He doesn't own me anymore.
I left the pool of blood by the door
of the murder scene,
burgundy screams.
Sharp tears drenching my skin
I'll never go back again.
He'll keep his crooked dagger in his pocket.
Her face remains in his golden locket.
He never cared for mine,
I left his mess of lies behind.
And although it still pains me to the core.
I'm starting to see...
He doesn't own me anymore.
That's interesting. Lots of imagery going on here. I really like the title.
ReplyDeleteNo fair! I have to write a poem now!
It looks like you were working with rhyming (or at least alliterative) couplets here! Nice job!
ReplyDeleteAmen Ash, great piece of writing.
ReplyDelete-Rach