Begin to Tell
I can't even begin to tell
of the pain invoked by empty eyes.
I arrive, searching and yearning for honey
and I leave with poison in my veins.
I bring the beautiful pottery
and instead it kisses the hard earth
by your mighty hand.
The soaring bird careens and sings
until it's voice is bitterly silenced
by hurtling, screaming lead.
Why do you sing a love song to kill me?
Why not cry the death march?
At least then I know my untimely fate
by your hungry fist.
9/7/17 -- thedoubtingbutterfly
[He laughs in my face and cuts me with his lips.
I don't ever want this feeling to come again. What have I done?
I am foolish to believe it was true.]