awaiting the ravens
as snowflakes flitter around
a quiet, safe haven
a secret, kept underground
*
adorned me with presents
promised his heart to me
and then, he turned rotten
an apple spoiled, felled, from its tree
*
where once was pure passion
brutality took its place
he looked like a madman
that evil look on his face
*
he vowed to replace me
replay all his sins
he left his guarantee
all over my skin
*
my face was so battered
he designed me a mask
he said, "rest assured"
nobody would ask
*
he said, he was the king
and this was his castle
once he made my heart sing
then he turned into an asshole
*
he had it all planned out
he knew exactly how it'd be
he planted a sprout
at my grave, neath the tree
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
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By S. A. Crawfordabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
Too many rotten apples out there. Well done!
👏👏👏👏
He needs to die. Slowly. Painfully. Lived your poem!
🖤
There is only one soul that survives such things. It is not his.