Originally posted by Momo Mastermind
There are ten of those words better left unsaid,
nine of those windows now streaked with red.

Eight legs are weaving a trap of pure deciete,
while seven sisters assemble on a clean folded sheet.

Six computers churn through the bowels of the night,
next to five roaches who won't die without a fight.

Four bullets shudder across a silent church hall,
three people pray while their hopes quickly fall.

Two worlds clash at the stroke of ten,
it's one of those nights all over again.
I really like this poem. For not being a poet Momo, you did an awesome job on this. The imagery in it is really good and the way you write it makes the poem as a whole pretty catchy. Hope to see more.