I sit here alone,
bathed in this filth.
Her insides stretched across the floor;
swarms of maggots eating their way through.
My hands hold her blood;
it drips down my palms and onto my forearms.
There is no equal color in nature.
Its black red shade and thick sticky consistency makes my mouth water.
Her heart in my lap is as beautiful as her face once was.
Now it lies in the corner atop her limbs,
her heavily used vagina stabbed repeatedly.
If only I could frame it to remember her infidelities,
to remember the searing pain I caused her in those hours,
to remember how she screamed and begged for mercy.
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Author:
Hannabal (
Offline) - Published: July 17th, 2017 00:39
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
Offline)
Comments3
I should mark this up as 'for 18 and over' - the tick box when you write up a poem.
What you up to, mucking about in maggots? Oops, that's killed a bit of the 'dark' theme of this poem! heehee.
I guess I must have seen that box. But thank you for pointing it out to me; I can remember that for next time.
I will also thank you for reading it.
you have the right to remain silent.
You have the right to speak.
I was eating a burger as i began to read this. Your words inspired me - I reached for the ketchup.
I thank you. I am glad you did not lose your appetite.
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