She dug her own grave

She dug her own grave

She took him because she could,

yet I was lucky, I withstood.

Six years on, the story bled,

he murdered her, she’s dead.

Cold steel bars now hold his hate,

a cell, his ever-twisting fate.

No love remains, no tender word,

just silence now, no voice is heard.

I walk away, the past still near,

but not my blood, not my fear.

He rots in prison, sealed and grim,

and all that’s left is none of him.

It could have been me in my grave;

maybe she was meant to take,

maybe she saved me from him?

All that greed, what a mistake.

For I am alive, I am well

His mistress is now the ghost.