An empty, abandoned room,
Just a body on the floor.
Only thorns left where the roses used to bloom,
severely blood-stained walls.
Nobody dared to enter the room the corpse was in;
"It's Bird In Red," they whispered in fear.
The victim had hearts carved into her skin.
I'll come back, my dears.
Red ink dripped onto the table.
I dipped my pen in your blood.
Five words I wrote on the paper:
"Love kills. I am love."
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Author:
Bird In Red (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 24th, 2025 10:46
- Comment from author about the poem: Something a bit...bloodier
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 34
- Users favorite of this poem: RSM0812
Offline)
Comments3
And sometimes it does feel like that,but we eventually rise from the dead, enjoyed the read
Glad you enjoyed! Thank you!
You are very welcome
Brutal and sad with a clever use of language to make its point. Nicely written
Thank you!
"Clever use of language" is a very nice compliment to get as English is not my native language.
Very powerful and well written. Love is a drug. Some drugs are good drugs. Some drugs are bad ones. Which one is love?
Thank you!
That is a very good question. Love seems to be both: good and bad, life and death, pain and comfort.
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