It's all in her flesh; it's all in her bones
And also in her soft white skin.
Her blood, so red, this darkness gores
Not to feel her, it's a sin.
Advancing towards her, pulling at her soul,
She turns; her skin falls to the ground.
She picks it up, covers in haste
Shocked, her body speaks no sound.
Taking out a knife, holding at her neck
Her bosoms visible under her wasted fabric,
Blood seeps though her skin, dark, as a lake,
She gazes at her nightmare. Murdering.
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Now this one's a different one. notice that I didn't use any I/You/They to specify who's speaking. what I mean to convey is that it's not murder. It's suicide. She is her own nightmare.
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Contemplations of a Disturbed Soul
PoetryHighest rank #83 in poetry (24 jan 2018) #3 in abstract (1 sept 2018) Some pieces of my heart that I found lying all around you. Which I picked up and tried to burn. Some did. These remained....
