Its not the first time I did it,
Nor the last that I plan,
For there is something good about it,
something refreshing.
It was still dawn when I found her
slightly sleepy yet alert.
I think she knew what was bound to happen,
yet I pray that she don´t.
I slowly focus my 9mm,
a little low from her bowed head.
Her eyes flickered a little when I sighed and pulled the trigger.
I hit her!
I hit her hard!
She fell from the branch she was sitting,
her body now lying on the ground.
When I was about to pick her up,
I was caught frozen at my place.
A chain was pulling me back,
holding me hard that I can´t breathe.
'Stop the stupid storytelling,´ a man said.
'Stop believing that you can make a change.´
The woods turned to walls,
The ground turned to cold granite floors,
And her I am again
lying on the floor,
staring at the broken mirror,
remembering each my unfortunate luck,
while the dead mockingbird stares back.
YOU ARE READING
Her unknown letters
PoetryIn the midst of her saddest days, she didn't cry nor asked for help, she just let her words run through her veins, and paint the poetry she longs to say. My first poetry book.
