Dammit what’s with these bloody prompts
The writer in me just thumps and stomps
I’m not suppose to be writing rhymes
Or what some might consider crimes
There is stories I should be writing
Not this poetry I’m citing.
In the night when it was freezing,
I’d roll over for a squeezing.
You’d assume it was seduction,
your response was just obstruction.
All I wanted was a cuddle,
a warm and tight huddle.
It could even be a snuggle,
but everything I muddle
Every word I spoke, a mistake,
from a tremor to an earthquake
There was never any malice,
not even something callous.
It was always love and devotion,
every feeling every emotion
They all came from inside,
no matter how hard I tried.
You banned my heart from feeling,
without thought you left me reeling
You banned my mind from thinking,
abandoned and left me sinking.
These words I speak, heartfelt,
these are the cards you dealt.
You wont feel any pain,
and I wont even strain.
In your heart this knife is plunged,
your life will be expunged.
If I can’t have you no one will
You drove me to this kill
Please don’t take this diction,
As anything more than fiction.
Even with the strain
My wife I haven’t slain
Her blood has not been spilled
I certainly haven’t killed
I don’t even own a knife
Suitable for stabbing a wife.
Although there’s one in the drawer
I’ve measured it twice, to be sure
While it would slide into her neck
Her death would leave me a wreck