Monday, 27 May 2013

Red. poem

Red Riding hood lay spread on her bed
the ache unbearable, rather be dead
Wanting to weep, for being upset was better than this
lying in silence, staring at the roof instead
hours have passed she's thought of nothing else
it's not fair, the inability to pleasure ones self

Red Riding hood looks upon her cloak, a crimson rose
was it worth it? she wonders, to forever crave
God's punishment is precise,
virtuous girls know not of this life
forever wanting, is the penance for her sins
forever desperate is her fate each night.

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