The bed

IMG_2380

“It’s not really a bad sort of a bed”

Yes, I think that’s verbatim, what she said

As the sheets of the bed turned brightly red

 

As the blood pooled, ran, dripped onto the floor

As it stickily coagulated, could run no more

She, holding the knife, felt she’d settled her score

 

The body lay prone with wounds in the back

I couldn’t believe our assailant’s strong hack

Or the size of the knife she wielded with such knack

 

Her slightly built body, her small fine fingered hand

The ring on one finger, the jewelled wedding band

The wet sleeve to the elbow, all bloodied and damned

 

Her action reaction, tragically violent in hew

In her mind no alternative, nothing else to do

With everything gone and nothing to lose

 

When I walked in the room she was standing there

A satisfied smile, a flushed face, a hand in his hair

I approached quietly for the knife from this desolate pair

 

That’s when she said, “It’s not a bad sort of bed”

One that they’d shared, planned their lives up ahead

But it seems he’d had others in the bed instead

And the only life she saw had him on the bed dead

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s