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    dots Submission Name: Porcelainedots

    Author: Vampiric Death
    Elite Ratio:    2.27 - 133/159/91
    Words: 162
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 559
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1132


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.


    Voices rise,
    hands fall.
    I hear her scream
    from down the hall.
    He gets drunk
    every night,
    Then he comes home
    and starts a fight.
    I pray for her,
    beside my bed.
    And hope that he
    will soon be dead.
    I hear her scream
    once again.
    I've learned to hate
    evil men.
    I grab a knife,
    walk down the hall.
    Hide in the shadows
    beside the wall.
    In her hand,
    I see a gun.
    Natural impulse
    says to run.
    She pulls the trigger,
    a resounding click.
    We all three know
    it didn't stick.
    Her eyes water,
    she bites her lip.
    She never thought
    to check the clip.
    He rushes at her,
    hand in the air.
    He picks her up,
    by her hair.
    I run at him,
    knife in hand.
    I stab his neck
    before she lands.
    He stares at me,
    with eyes glazed.
    I walk around
    in a daze.
    I can't believe
    I took his life.
    My only weapon:
    a kitchen knife.

    Submitted on 2006-10-17 08:41:59     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      very moving, i can almost see the story come to life in my mind. wow, i had to reread this one twice, great job, muy bien

    | Posted on 2007-02-07 00:00:00 | by IsabellaAurora | [ Reply to This ]
      God...I...I...*BIG sigh* . Okay. I got ya. Sad, but very well described. I've always wondered where you came up with these things....
    | Posted on 2006-10-18 00:00:00 | by Twisted | [ Reply to This ]
      Nice imagery. I really felt like I could see what you described. Very full of emotion too. I felt the fear coming out of the words. Keep up the good work.

    | Posted on 2006-10-17 00:00:00 | by precious_poetry | [ Reply to This ]
      I relate to this piece. Before my folks got divorced the police was on our door every week. He was a drunk and beat her. There was nothing I could do but i still remember how much I wanted him dead.
    | Posted on 2006-10-17 00:00:00 | by Porcelaine | [ Reply to This ]

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