A flirtatious guise will not save you,
dear sweet Jezebel–
you should know your painted face
does nothing for me now.

I will push you from that lofty perch,
watch the horses tear you apart
with callous words and cutting glances;

the dogs will lap at your wounds,
leave you on the cobblestones
with those wicked hands
and that thick twisted skull.

And when the rains prepare
to wash your blood-red lips
from my desecrated mind,
only then shall I confess
I once cared for you.


Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved


About cjchaffin

Wordsmithing is my passion. I eat, sleep, and breathe words and phrases, only to regurgitate them and pray that they are better off than when I first ingested them.
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