Secrets

She was terribly beating down,
piece by piece her soul is broken,
Her beauty was not meant to praise,
But an occasion for the merciless,
of greed for passion,
whose cries rang amid of tears,
Her Robe is soaked with blood,
the blood of guilt and anger,
The world she knew,
is the world of darkness...
Blood of the same blood,
swallowed in her very own stream,
This is not her tragedy,
but of her stalker,
whose laughter echoed in the abyss,

Time has kept all these secrets,
in a box of her heart,
and no one can dare to open it,
for she herself made it without a key,
And she can tell the world,
She's standing again with secrets untold.

**under Love is...category, for self love might means a love to count, when no one can do it for u...

©Edward Oropeza