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…
Executed Her Feelings.
This is Murder She Wrote.
Her Autobiography printed along the walls of
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
‘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
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
Looked in her fragmented mirror,
Into her pupils and asked,
‘Who Taught You to Hate Yourself?‘