Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Angel of Death


Under the old rusty swing where small feet stop and press.
Under the old rusty swing she laid to rest.

The creak of the rusty hinges,
Trembles painfully through her spine.
The warm salty air,
Welts painfully against her skin.
Just remembering the tickles of the dried weed,
Tears rolls sorely against the roughened cheek.

He was her first love.
Her only love.
She trusted him.
She gave him her all.

He robbed her off her innocence.
He raided her pride.
He stripped her off any humanity.
He killed the very soul inside of her.
He was her teacher.
Her uncle.

Her murderer.