Dead. Now.

Broken hearts, left unmended

This Christmas will be unended

Just waiting on her champange smell

Living in her own private hell

 

Locked in this institution

awaiting karmic retribution

Unknown to the outside

Killing me on the inside

 

And she always says she's dying

and she's seen a lot of bedrooms

And even more a lot of boys

she just one of their many toys

 

She's so confident in life, in love

like, bring on the singing doves

Break the flow of magic

say it so it sticks

 

Alone in that room

or maybe more a tomb

But she knows it's just a phase

trembling past the gaze

Reviews

[TC Dunn]

wonderful flow… love the rhyming. It helps move the reader along. Also very powerful with all the raw emotion in this piece.

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

Qutie and rollercoaster of emtions and telling prose, well done, good read.