Keeping Secrets

 

Kneeling in the center of the room

 Silence was the shroud that adorned her

 As pieces of her mental processes fell down.

She dare not tell anyone the horrors that plagued her.

The shambles of her love were picture perfect to prying eyes

And neatly placed was every article of her life.

Her heart ached in her reality.

Her muffled screams were kept .

His love turned wicked long ago

But she had learned from watching her mother how to take it.

His love was brutal and demeaning

As he berated everything from her looks to her cleaning.

She hides her eyes from family and friends

Afraid they may see inside her soul

Grown black like lungs singed by cigarettes.

Regret had long turned into dust...

She was a beauty that even age couldn’t silence

But her clothes lied...

Even her doctor visits were negated

Because if they saw they would be horrified.

She died with each turning of the door knob

Knowing there was something she forgot to do right

And he would make sure she paid for it.

 

 

 

Reviews

[R J Askew]

'And neatly placed was every article of her life.' ... like a mask? (This also makes me think of writing form poems where every syllable and stress is literally neatly placed, and the outcome can look pretty, yet lacking somehow) 'Wicked...brutal...demanding...berated...' spell it out, sadly. The smoked soul is graphic. The last five lines are hard to read, speaking of shameful injury and terrible dread at what detail may have been overlooked enough to draw further punishment. Hard times.

[Mr. Deft Diction]

You've got me intrigued with this one right here. Is there a part deux?