Confess that bed bedeviled with lassitude

Encumbers the body rooted to ground of ash

Procession of the soul harangued to death


Thick ropes of hair sprawl on the cold limbs

A strand swells and strains the lips, says “sshhhhh . . . “

Eyes known of crime are shut in its cavern


Strangulated expiation of the forlorn heart

Venomous claws of the constant, infuse all blue

Specked and tattooed with the dark and sewn


Blackmailed into surrender by the fear of fate

The will is murdered, robbed you of your spine

Curl up into bull’s eye targeted by flawless time


Crime is not to have a life

But have nothing to live for


©Written Frames, 2018

20 thoughts on “Crime

  1. Ebony black yet so beautiful; robs me of breath as I read like the tangled hair straining the mouth. The tangled sheets echo the anguish in my belly
    So hopeless … yet with a hopeful finale that sits like glimmering sun ray on a muddy pool.
    Love this….

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hopeful to have an aim, a goal and break free from the strangulating outgrowth of an inactive body… hers thick ropes of hair…. Though brittle at bones yet a worth of a shot….

      I need to live! We need to live and hold a purpose dear to heart..

      Thank you dearest D … glad to have you here resonate with my feelings…. ❤ ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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