The Little Black Dahilia

Desert flower

8:30 this morning a girl died well at least a part of her. She returned as a murderer killing her innocence as a bait to the eyes of the truth. Back home as a stranger perhaps . She was ready to face the consequences of being a changed women.

Unsettled and stressed would be exact the words to describe her a night ago. Maybe on the respect of entertaining her thoughts on a run away train that she has never brought a ticket to. Pretending everything was ok, hiding her unhealed scars that bleeded her from inside out.

What if life is signalling by bringing this lie back into her life again. Wrestled her nightmares till sun lit the sky. Wishing and just begging that her marriage wasn’t a lie.

She knew the price it demanded from her. Sometimes it’s not what things are what they appear to be she…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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