Roses grow between the graves.
Curling their fingers around the stones.
Waiting for the evil ones to rise.
From dungeons beneath the earth.
Where they’ve been banished.
For the games they’ve played.
On the living they’ve blooded.
Rise with the moon.
Come with the night.
Take hold of our stems.
Blood red we’ve become.
THE DEAD GAME
Kindle
Nook
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