Down by the embankment, hellbent on turning everything the right way right round
One swift drop, sounding all of it out
This ain’t no fairy-tale – rather a short story dedicated to a fair degree of both courageous guts ‘n’ glory
A line of relative guilt may always run through it, but this was something which she needed to do
Snuff him out, wipe clear away any future possibilities, forlorn doubts snagging at her heels
Bagging him entirely following a heady knock to the temple
Blood gushing like a Wyoming geyser, one hand gripping hold to the corner of the freezer
‘Til his eyes closed, he pronounced himself dead
A red river for all of the pain he bestowed upon her, tearing her asunder
Now you get to watch yourself masterfully plunder, go measurably under
The very ghost of my existence

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