Killer Instinct

Love letter from the pen

This is self imprisonment

Murder she wrote

She was given life sentences.

The sentence of her life,

She was in a search for words,

Definitely changing the definition of a…

Poets Ambition.

She said

Fuck It

Plead Guilty


Executed Her Feelings.

This is Murder She Wrote.

Her Autobiography printed along the walls of

Death Row.


Darkness her twisted fantasy.

Phantoms of her Poetic Bloodline

Graced her Nightmares.

Reliving the replacement of her virginity

The first time she held the lead in her palms,

And burned pages pages and pages,


all that shown in the dim light of the burning paper

Were Psalms.

Murder She Wrote

She longed to relive that moment.

Because if nostalgia granted time travel,

She wouldn’t have put the steel down.

She would allow herself to get blasted,

With all hope of becoming impregnated.

So that she could give birth to an Iron Man,

Because Sheroes are seldom.

Unable to rewrite her-story, nor his

instead she put her life into

scripting the future of another.

The child inside of her.

Whom when born,

Was put on the scale of justice

Which ego made an imbalance

and was soon pronounced

Still Born,

because nobody took the time to listen.

Murder They Wrote.


She roams the hollow halls of Death Row,


She herself is prison.

Handcuffed, Paper cut, and Influenced.

Little light shines in these 4 chambers.

Her soul has lost mates and cells.

There is only room for one,

One Mad Poet.

Loneliness left to tease her muses,

Amused by the thought of Freedom,

She executes laughter and embellished insanity.

With her silver bladed tongue,

She belittled the value of silence,

Pain to her was now a penny,


Murder She Spoke

She rose,

Looked in her fragmented mirror,

Into her pupils and asked,

Who Taught You to Hate Yourself?




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