Twisted Game of Crib

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Another of my spur of the moment writings. Again, a look at love and relationships. In my defence, there are not many forms of art or expression that don't play to the heart in some way or other. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it. Comments are appreciated. (:

Submitted: October 26, 2011

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Submitted: October 26, 2011

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Bellicose brawler

Bourgeoning beauty

Belle of no ball

She's right on the edge, waiting to fall.

 

The hand she was dealt

Screams "Save me from hell,"

Sings like a dove when

She's casting her spell.

 

She plays her first card

And, although he tried hard,

He couldn't resist

The red queen of hearts.

 

She holds them in her hand

She never had it planned

The stakes are too great

He's in her command.

 

The dog on the leash

He thinks that she's sweet

Lets her play around

She'll move to the beat.

 

She cries as she sleeps

Through his dreams she creeps

He wants her the more

Her heart now will weep.

 

The passion, the flair

The flip of her hair

She can manipulate

And never plays fair.

 

She dresses the part

They're caught, though they're smart

Blue-eyed black widow

She'll play with your heart.

 

Run while you can

Don't play with her, man

Leave her all alone

Before she kills again.

 

 

 


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