Tuesday, October 13, 2015

True Love








He passed by her without a look,
Carelessly and coldly, slammed the door.
She smiled faintly and kept on sweeping 
An imaginary floor.

And when she spoke, he didn't answer,
Instead, he mumbled: "You're a whore!"
The atmosphere grew even denser 
And she didn't try anymore...

At dinner time, he was just fuming
And for no reason, lost his patience
A simple glance was just enough
For him to throw her against the door...

And as she wiped her bloody lips
Repeating to herself: "I'm fine!"
Awaiting on the shelf, a bottle
Of  good old strychnine.







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