I looked upon the judges eyes in blur of tears
words fumble out from the tip of my acidic tongue
How
chains some how strapped my hands in place
I glare in disbelief, I can feel the blood underneath my finger nails
What
the smell of bleached dried into the wrinkles of my skin
standing still in purgatory waiting for who that sits before me
Who
I can still smell her lavender perfume smeared across my clothes
smile melted into horror
When
5 minutes to hear the voice flood the rooms with her screams
4 o'clock and the father clocked rung
Guilty By the bang of the gavel..
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryPoetry from where people don't wanna go. Poems, where people don't wanna hear. These are the unread poems they push in their closet at night. These are the poems that hide underneath their shoes. These are those poems they ignore And these are the p...
