Alex Mascarenhas's picture


She was jealous not of me
She was jealous of herself
If another looked at me
She could never let it be
She killed a woman with her shoe
Stiletto to the heart, beatless
She killed my will, and me she wooed
She was pure, she was nude and lewd
She loved me so; her love, a gale
I loved this siren head to toe
I loved her eye, I loved her nail
I wrote her poems; she read my mail
One day she loved me, her love was strong
I had her body, her mind was gone
See, I thought her mine – behind, a throng
She whispered sweetly a sick swan song
This dame was trouble, you can tell
She fell from heaven, blackened wings
Her soft feathers like razors smell
I got it wrong – she rose from hell

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