He let her.
As she walked away with
Heavy luggage
Under her pairs,
And a heaving heart inside
Her small chest.
Out, she went through the
Glass door.
Dragging her legs as ever.
With a single hand,
She fixed her ragged red dress.
Wiping the smuggled
Lipstick off her cracked thin lips.
The same thin lips
Which kept on screaming
Largely.
Hoping he'd stop.
On a sad note he kept on and on.
Feeding his evil eyes with utility.
Until he saw her sob
Sorely
That her breath was not the same
Pace.
She now knew.
Knew that, this was never a place
For her to live.
It was a place for her to die.
So she left.
YOU ARE READING
Portraits of her heart
PoetryTo all poet enthusiasts, well this is for you. This lovely book is a third person narrative, and yes it's full of poetry whereby you find romance, somber, melancholy, hurt, ecstasy, love, affection, fondness, remorse and a whole lot more. So please...
