And so she killed the man she loved to death

She wiped the stain off her face
with the back of her hand in rage
the tears she’d sworn never to let flow
was now bursting like an
overflow dam.
A sudden whim struck her then
‘What the hell was wrong with me?’
He was the one who let go
he was the eversor
he was the occisor
of her and of her sanity
and so she withdrew the
uninvited remorse and shut herself down.

Her palms flooded with
crimson river
as red as the fine wine
as sweet as the mead in Herot
and yet so bitter in her god damn heart.
The rusty odour diffused all over
on her shirt
on her hair
and on her mouth
as she swung the axe freely and
passionately, towards
the man she once loved
to death.

And with it, no more pain
he could inflict on her and
her sanity, hence
the sacrifice she had made for
herself was trifle and
tenuous compared to
her own
carte blanche.

 

I think. I feel. I write. Welcome to my reality.
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