Chains unchained

My dress is a white that shouts new life. But my hands soaked in the blood that runs through my veins. I wipe my hands of blood onto my dress.

Most times, one doesn’t want to stand out at a funeral. But I want to.

Down the aisle, I feel darkness surrounding—every eye of those whose bodies fill the pews, emptying their anger on me.

It seems they are mourning the death.

All So familiar yet so unwanted.

Loud remarks as they continue to claim I killed her. Her??

But they cannot touch me. My demons. Yes, my demons. Their deathly touch cannot touch me, for I am now protected by new life.

But I took a life that didn’t want to be gone. The blood on my dress is mine, though, right?

They continue to try to grab me as I walk closer to the casket.

Then I see me.

I should have one accessory, metal handcuffs, but it is on the hands which no longer move.

I kiss the head of my enemy. How shattered she looks. Even in death, she exemplifies sadness with no hint of remorse.

Feeling like I have been dead but finally opening my eyes

I’m alive.