Tuesday, December 9, 2014

ME: And she was his

He had her –
not friend but a mistress.
And she was his –
to hold but not to keep,
for he – for her
love had never felt.
And she was his –
to toy and toss away
when the morning twitters came,
to lock her in the deepest pit
until the yearn came back at night,
until he needed flesh to feed his life.

And she was his –
nothing but a doll -
her heart was torn apart
and her eyes were black with night,
her bones were aching  lonely,
her blood – frozen clogs amid her brain.

And she was his,
but hers – no more…
And she was hurt
but couldn’t walk away.
And she was his
until the fire took her in
and Death freed her away.

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