Broken Love

Reads: 114  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


She loved him. He used her. She wants revenge.

Submitted: April 27, 2018

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Submitted: April 27, 2018

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A A A


I reach under the bed.

With thoughts of you in my head.

I feel for the box, the slight comfort
That small box is easy to sort.
The rough edges cut at my palm
It may hurt, but it gives me a sense of calm
 
When I open it, I look at your face
The face that held so much grace
At the photograph of the both you and me
But your expression was too hard to see
My face was a look of pure joy
But I did not know then that I was your toy
 
Pick me up, put me down.
You made me look like a clown. 
I would run when you call
You made me fall
I did not see who you really are
Since the day we met in that bar
 
So now, as I look at your face, looking like you cannot be tamed
I feel so ashamed
I do not think, I just take the picture and rip.
I rip rip rip so my face is at the tip.
Then, I take your half of the page, and toss it in the fire
I sit on the couch and watch the flames get higher
 
I watch your pictures burn
You hurt me, so now it is my turn
I grab my jacket
Not forgetting the hatchet
I slowly walk to your house
In an old white blouse
 
I knock on the door , waiting for you to answer 
You open the door, and when you see me, you start to fidget like a broken dancer
I look at you now, and I grin
I grin, knowing that I am about to sin
I pull the hatchet out, and I start swinging
I swing until I hit something.
 
I watch you fall, A
Your head lolls to the side, like a ball
 I walk over to the mirror and look down
Now I really feel like a clown
The red on the white
It could show at night
 
Later, I put the gun to my head
Now that you are dead
What's the point  of going on  anymore
For, my heart is sore
 I pull back the safety, and get ready boom
 I pull the trigger and a loud fills the room
 
 


© Copyright 2018 Bea Bellarke. All rights reserved.

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