Dark Poems

Roses are red, and so is blood. . .


19. 19.



I know I have to, though I'll regret it.

But at the moment, I'm in a deep, dark pit.

My life is is turning, swirling, being churned upside down.

Tugging me, pulling me, as if it wants me to drown.

To bury me in grief, so thick and strong.

That I know I can't let it, know it is wrong.

So I'll do as I'm told, and listen to my inner voice.

Though, even as I do so, I won't let myself see.

For I know that if I do so, what sight will greet me.

Now, in this cold, dark room, I pull the black trigger.

And I hear the scream, the last breath escape her.

And now the women of death,

has been faced with her own horror.

And I now turn away,

as I can bear the pain of becoming her, the next women of death,

no more.

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