I didn’t mean to kill her.

They,

they were paintings on the wall, just collateral damage;

She, Folie, with those bottle green eyes,

I meant to kill her and with intent.

It wasn’t intentional, more like a premeditated mistake –

an unplanned surgical strike.

She begged for rebellion and Folie followed the shadows

With her unflappably bright smile that fiercely shone

from her heartsblood stained lips.

Everyone said she was tasty,  an irresistible sweet treat,

and they were correct.

Writhing, she tasted of wine

Whining, she just tasted dead, and

Folie, with her green eyes shining, laughed,

no she didn’t cry out when the shadows caressed her,

but she sighed with an inferno in her late smile

and promises Hell and more when I returned to her tonight

©MelanieMcCurdie

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2 thoughts on “La petite mort de la Folie

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