Begin to Tell

I can't even begin to tell

of the pain invoked by empty eyes.

I arrive, searching and yearning for honey

and I leave with poison in my veins.

I bring the beautiful pottery

and instead it kisses the hard earth

by your mighty hand.

The soaring bird careens and sings

until it's voice is bitterly silenced

by hurtling, screaming lead.

Why do you sing a love song to kill me?

Why not cry the death march?

At least then I know my untimely fate

by your hungry fist.

9/7/17 -- thedoubtingbutterfly

[He laughs in my face and cuts me with his lips.

I don't ever want this feeling to come again. What have I done? 

I am foolish to believe it was true.]