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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Dark · #1852544
Written from the other side of murder.
I walk out the door
and down some green stairs
hoping over some three day old vomit,

coming to door number eight.
I hear plates smashing followed by screams
I close me eyes and carry on.

The green is hurting my head,
hearing sirens i automatically hide
They stop
so i return to the stairway.

I fall
I remember what Ive done and get myself up

returning to door number eight
I knock
a little girl holding her nose answer the door,
I see blood on the floor
she tells me she has a nose bleed,
I ask her to keep to the noise down,
She shuts the door, I fall again.

Crawling toward the vomit,
I join it and clean myself up with my shirt.
starting to panic,
It's too quiet, my head is now burning
me eyes sting, I'm shaking
half naked, standing tall
I know i must be strong.

Reaching out for the door handle, there was no need,
the door opens
the smell reaches me
I see the chair in the far corner
the girl Ive just murdered is laying there
In her no longer white towel,
so i clean her up and change her into a black suit.
trying to give her back some dignity.


© Copyright 2012 Teacka Cohen (420.cohen at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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