A middle-aged lady sat in the study.
She opened her book and started to read in the dark.
She heard a knock from the window and stood to look.
Her husband rushed past, but she still knew it was him.
His classic grey suit with his hair all aloof,
Running to the door like he always used to do.
The lady fell to the floor and quickly closed her book,
for her tears dripped to the rug and poured onto the floor.
She used to be happy about him coming home,
But then she was married,
Not a widow all alone.
YOU ARE READING
Gentle Screams and Glass Figurines
Poetry"Nothing can protect us from the human screams, as the fire of anarchy intoxicates our once innocent minds." ~~~~~~ A collection of poems about life, death, and everything in between. Dark, deep, and horror poetry intended to make you think abou...
