Blood stained the floor, while the
blood trailed out of the bathroom and down the hall.
A candlelit room illuminated a plain white canvas
sitting on an easel.
It was a rather ghastly sight to behold.
The source of the blood was lying on the
cold flood.
Is my Annabelle really gone.
The blood pooled on the end of the
paintbrush sitting in her limp hand as her
lifeless green eyes stared into the heart of a candle
flame inches from her porcelain skin.
A wick reached its end and burnt out.
One by one each candle went out.
until the last one by her face was left to
burn alone.
"Its always the same... You tortured me."
Annabelle had always repeated.
Always the same...
Were they really all the same?
Or was it her imagination that killed her.
Annabelle, a lovely, innocent girl,
Had been stolen away
by her demons that just
wouldnt shut up.
The self inflicted wounds
had always been blamed on things
that never existed.
Annabelle what have you done.
Lie to me and tell me Im
dreaming.
Tell me this is just
a nightmare...
Please Annabelle, I beg of you.
My angel, lie to me.
Tell me this isn't real.
The blood on my hands makes it all too real...
Soon this will be,
just an awful memory.
Always the same dear Annabelle.
All she ever did was paint and whisper into the darkness.
You tortured me....
YOU ARE READING
Poetry And Mixed Feelings
PoesiaSome poetry that I have written over the years. I WARN YOU NOW! SOME OF THEM ARE TRIGGERING! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
