In past life did I fail as a wife?
Did I murder my lover?
With a gun, poison or sharp knife
Was I an unfit wife?
Did I cause them irreparable strife?
Did I damage them beyond repair?
Is that why I stay so alone in my current affairs?
How many did I do it to, And how many can I suffer for
I'm so alone it has to be punishment
I'm crying and clawing at a door
That'll remain closed ever and more.
My wings are not clipped, but I cannot soar
My ankles chained by my need for affection, love and more
Instead this loneliness of me makes gore
It pulls my lungs out so I can take breath in no more
It pulls me limb from limb like being quartered by horse
It slashes me with a blade with cuts to score
This loneliness is a punishment
it will last Ever and more
Maybe I should end it all, this life is a chore.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Doves and Their Pretty Corpses
PoesiaA collection of original poems, writings, and laments Hopefully cathartically relatable to those who read it, as you are not alone in this abyss. I am here too. Cover art by: Voidbug on IG
