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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #2075534
The return of the murdered husband
He came to me the night before:
To tell me what he'd planned.
He even told me where the gore:
would fine'ly come to land.
He said he'd come at stroke of day:
And sever flesh from bone.
He wants to rend my guts and play:
Within the mess he's sown.

He said I'd pay for wicked crimes:
Against his family.
He said he'd come at killing time:
He shouted angrily.
I shot him dead with weighted lead:
Upon his wife's demand.
She held my love within her bed:
I fell to her command.

I sat amidst my living room:
Upon my easy chair.
My silence perveyed my dour gloom:
As thought became my prayer.
I heard the chime as midnight struck:
The blow of fear and fright.
I knew beyond my dreams of luck
That evil lurked tonight.

The shadows danced a pirroette:
As all the lights went out,
And darkness caste his silhouette.
With shoulders strong and stout.
And so he came with face aflame:
Intent on gleeful work.
His eyes were focused, black with blame:
And harbored bloody murk.

He grinned with rotted teeth in joy:
As knife left belted sheath.
The foetid tool he would employ:
To lay me underneath.
He deftly sliced upon my cheek:
Eliciting my screams.
I wretched among his foetid reek:
As blood began to stream.

His plasmic fingers played inside:
My weeping tortured wounds.
And death appeared to leave my side.
He would not find me soon.
My pain became my stalwart friend:
As sure as days are long.
I found myself at bitter end.
I simply wasn't strong.

As torture found it's end that night:
He cleaned the bloody knife.
I thanked my god, an end in sight,
He didn't take my life.
I cursed the gods of man and fate:
I wouldn't soon be saved.
This agony will not abate
He took me to his grave.
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