Emily Crichton Stout

The smell of death was my only friend.

He'd rot my clothes,

let me wilt a spin.

No, father, hunt me not in here

lest mother find me lost to fear.

 

The smell of death was my only adversary.

In the molding throes,

a crackle of rosary.

The distinct scent of crime

blotted home in foetid grime.

 

Will you take a walk, good sir?

We have so much to talk about.

I've come for the missing persona,

you daughter, Emily Crichton Stout.

 

Yes, I'll take a walk, good man,

'tis a lovely evening for moon.

I regret to inform you I have nothing to knowing

about my dear angel of snow.

 

It left me, the ape,

my female's eyes agape

with a sorrow they can never tell.

"A b*****d you've been,

her screams were a din,

I hope you burn in hell."

 

Now I step into the fur,

with the knowledge on the out.

I've hidden this little persona,

my daughter, Emily Crichton Stout.

Reviews

[ICE]

It's like a little story that you have to work at really hard to understand it...like gourmet cheese. Really "dark " gourmet cheese. But really it was good.