A Book of Tales


1. A Tale of the Unfortunate

Black and blue 
was the colour of her eyes, 
bruised and sore 
was the aftermath of her lies. 

Red was the hue of the river
as it flowed through her veins, 
Copper did it taste
as it mixed with the pain. 

Seconds turned into minutes
as hours turned into days, 
Weeks into months and
Years into decades. 

Not once did she cry, 
weep or moan, 
this was her life, 
her supposed sanctuary and,
unfortunately, her home. 

Her life went on,
Day in, day out, 
there wasn't a hero, 
a saviour, about. 
To save her from the horror 
that awaited her at home, 
the very same heartache 
that left her alone.

Purple did they go 
as they attempted to heal, 
leaving her throbbing and broken, 
reminding her that 
they were very real. 

It seemed like a story, 
a fictional kind of strife, 
the one's you hear about 
in fairy tales, in books and movies, 
how the character hated their life.

But they had a chance to live, 
tell others of their glories, 
as they defeated their monsters 
and mocked her with their stories. 

Black and blue 
was the colour of her eyes, 
bruised and sore 
as she took her own life.

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