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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Mystery · #1359138
I'm not sure was going on in my mind when I wrote this. I was just in a weird mood.
I’m standing here
Holding the dagger in my hands.
There’s blood like rose petals
Dripping off the edge.
Before me lies his body.
But I loved him!
How could I have done this!
How could this dagger of Hate
Which had been welling up inside
Of my soul for so long be used on him?
He made me laugh.
He made me smile until my cheeks hurt.
He gave meaning to me.
So, why? How? Was it even me?
How on earth did I look at him,
Look him straight in the eyes,
And stab him, saying,
“For the greater good,
Sacrifices must be made?”
When it comes to the people
You love, you make
Sacrifices for them,
Not against them.
How then could I have done this?
He was the true source
Of my breath.
Oh, God! I can’t breathe!
My airway is shrinking
And life begins to fade.
But for some reason,
I make it.
But I don’t’ deserve to live!
Not after what I did to him.

Rise forth, O murdered, bloody,
Tortured soul that I once loved.
Rise, and destroy me with my
Own dagger.
Take the form of the zombie that
The depths of my heart has become.
At once, there is blood
Seeping from every crevice
Of my fragile body.
I begin to believe that
This is the end, but
Suddenly, I wake up from
This nightmare, kicking and
Screaming, saying,
“No, please! I’m sorry!”
Hyperventilating and sweating, I
Get out of bed, go to the
Bathroom, look in the mirror, and
See my glowing green complexion.
The zombie from my dream questions me.
“Having nightmares about our deaths again?”
“Yes, my love,” I reply, “except that in my dreams,
It is I who murders you.”
© Copyright 2007 Haley Bryant (shatteredheart at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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