Author: kenny howard

Chapter 43
Piping hot cream of tomato soup on a cold mid winters night (with lashings of wh

The rain is beating on my windows hard
The wind is howling mad
I sip my soup
I'm cosy and glad

I turn my head
She is still there
Her blind eyes stare

Her skin very pale
Clots of shinning blood
In her tangled hair

I killed her
She is dead
I turned back
And dipped my bread ....


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