Blood On Her Hands
My love,
Why doesn’t she respond?
I drive to her house,
The light in her room is on.
She is here.
I sigh in relief, I thought she had gone.
I climb the tree
That leads to her bedroom.
Her beautiful head is bent over something in her lap,
As she sits on the edge of her bed.
I carefully open the window,
And let myself in.
She doesn’t seem to hear me,
Her music plays softly in the background.
“My love,” I say quietly,
“Are you alright?”
Her tear-stained face is what I greet
When I walk around the bed.
I look down and see blood on her hands,
And a knife against her thigh.
No….
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Last Goodbye
PoetryThis is just a poem that i wrote at a low moment. It basically describes my life as of now.... I'll be adding to it every now and then. I don't want to post all of it at once. (be warned; these are going to be kind of intense. nothing graphic, just...
