I tried not to frighten you, but it is only because of you that I'm terrified.
I'm scared of facing the truths.
You're afraid I turn out to be what you thought of me.
Maybe if we both go our separate ways, we can forget everything.
We can cover up in lies.
Don't talk about anything that went on between us.
We buried the body.
You dug the grave.
I made the mistake.
We cleaned up the mess and hoped to forget it all the very next day.
The very next morning, there was still blood on the ceiling, floor, and walls. It covered the living room couch and stained the white rug. The body propped up on the floor as if it were mocking us for an improper job. The weapon was still in my hand. You still stood by the doorway staring.
The next afternoon, it was all the same. The body still displayed. The blood still dripping from my hands. Your eyes still wide open. No matter what we did to cover it up, it always ended up the same.
You're stuck digging the same grave because I keep repeating the same mistake.
Forced to cover up and move away, but the same person keeps walking into me. Like a magnet, it flies to the metallic knife shining in my hand.
Body, after body, then just one more till it multiplies, and now there's 10 stacked in the same grave.
It's only one body. It's only one corpse that I keep killing again and again and then once more.
Then, after a while, I dig another grave. I drag the body and let it fall down the deep hole. I say my goodbyes to you and wish you good luck as I grab my shovel and begin to fill up the gap in the ground.
Third kill, and I'm a serial heartbreaker.
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It's a poem about dating and falling into a person who does not feel the same for you. The person falling in love is getting stabbed and killed. The person killing them feels guilty and tries to make up for it with another partner, but then that partner/friend falls in love too and ends up getting heartbroken like all others. The mistake is falling in love and dating the wrong people/person. I might make some minor adjustments here and there to the poem, but for now, I hope it makes sense.
If you have a different interpretation or take the poem more literally, feel free to comment!
YOU ARE READING
Life Beneath The Words At Play
PoetryMy poetry is only to fill blank pages. You decide how to color it in. That meaning, you can interpret the poems the way you want. I only put the words together, and you decide the rest :) Yet another poem dump for my unorganized mess that is my poe...