A cold blooded murder dedicated to my sins of a young girl in pink,
Smothered by a cotton cloth at birth
Covered in the scent of my defeat to yours truly.
Rather then a pretty baby with green eyes and Disney eyelashes ,
Looking up was a girl in red silk and eyes carved out until hollow by the man holding her chin with his index finger.
Now belonging to the sirens her nails grew sharper until they broke through her skin and paralysed her muscles,
Wrapped up in a memorial of her youth she lay discarded by self control and respect.
YOU ARE READING
Poems I Write in my Head by Rose De Glanville
PoetryRomance, hurt, and a hole in the gut. 16 personal poems of mine that nobody has seen, and are based off of my own hurt and personal experiences. Interpret them how you wish. I write in my head a lot of the time, I say tricky things that hardly make...
