I'm sorry to her mother and father,
But red is my favourite colour,
So I traced a heart on her back,
And cut deeper.
Loud cries of agony,
Music for my ears,
Limp, weak limbs,
Sat lifeless.
Trickling down her spine,
Pooling at the bottom,
Red wasn't her favourite colour,
But it has always been mine.
YOU ARE READING
short poems I've written
PoetryI'll update this a lot tbh hopefully. Tw// gore probably
