Her Chi
The scar she left ran deep.
If anytime I was reminded of that scar on my back,
I was reminded not to cross her.
Her love was intoxicating.
She could do much more damage than a scar.
But a slice to the neck.
I would let her.
If I were to die, I was to die in her hands.
Or even by her hands.
Her words cut deep
like the knife she used on my back.
I sometimes question her sanity.
I will take her sane
or insane so long as I could taste her love
on my lips.
The nostalgia of her love
making. Fill the air with her chemical aroma,
an addict to her drug.
The scar she left ran deep.
If anytime I was reminded of that scar on my back,
I was reminded not to cross her.
If anytime I was reminded of that scar on my back,
I was reminded not to cross her.
Her love was intoxicating.
She could do much more damage than a scar.
But a slice to the neck.
I would let her.
If I were to die, I was to die in her hands.
Or even by her hands.
Her words cut deep
like the knife she used on my back.
I sometimes question her sanity.
I will take her sane
or insane so long as I could taste her love
on my lips.
The nostalgia of her love
making. Fill the air with her chemical aroma,
an addict to her drug.
The scar she left ran deep.
If anytime I was reminded of that scar on my back,
I was reminded not to cross her.
♠ ♠ ♠
This poem was inspired by my not-published-on-this-website story Life is Quick. It's the story in the POV of Jamal, the co-main character in my no-longer-published-on-this-website Extranormal. The story is completed, in case you're wondering.