The Murder

When the first touch of the ink,

Stained this maiden paper,

Its chastity disappeared into the air,

As did mine- a day later.

Only thing, I didn’t know it then.

Darkness had settled heavily over the scene,

When quietly he crept in.

And claiming it was all a game,

Played with me over and again.

I laid there, failing to stop him.

It was a murder, alas!

The murder of my soul and my feels,

Which took away with itself,

The core reason of my being!

Three gun shots, I see nothing-

They say that at the time of your death,

Your entire life flashes in front of your eyes.

That happened not with me,

As my heart turned colder- like ice.

Breathing ceased, the earth stood still.

Three days later,

My ink stained the sheet once again,

Like my body was stained,

With the scars that he left.

He lay dead, with the shots I fired.

Just like the permanent ink marks,

Which now adorn the sheets,

I came victorious,

And the scars, with pride I meet.

A perfect, most perfect murder!

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