The Fiction of Reality

Cuts down through her wrists,
The blood flows ever softly
As she slips off in a coma
And dies. It's because of me.

Smoke fills the room acloud.
White lines on glass of coke
With drugs all about, she dares
To relieve the pain, gives up hope.

Only drops remain in the bottle,
A staggering body about to ground.
Blurred and double vision now
Echoing screams are her last sounds.

Plagued by disease, in bed dying.
Sided only by her boyfriend's son.
Him pasted, her soon to join with.
There were three, now there's one.

Abused by one while younger,
Scarred now for life she is.
Taken advantage of yet again,
And she's now carrying his.

Prude to the highest extent,
But ever so sexually curious still.
Raped, beaten, and now dead
Because she listened to his will.

Two lovely loves, bound with each.
But all too trusting and then, alas,
With the wind and rain all wild like,
Over they went, into the waters crash.

Controlling much, yet mind never sure
That of which she does still want.
Angered many in the past that now
One is out for revenge. She's his hunt.

Parents nagging and ruling every inch;
No breathing room allowed. To abide
Not with all the damnation brought on
She lets go and let's herself die.

Proud of everything, and cocky still
Is one who longs to rule the universe.
Yet power was taken to the head
And she now lies numb in a hurst.

Deprived of her needs from a man,
She tries looking elsewhere for it.
But when he found out about them
He killed them and himself, so commit.

Twelve gravestones buried in the backyard
Of mine, all these deaths above my head.
Guilt destroys me now from within,
And now, even I, desire to yet be dead.