poem

her last sight was that of the pale moonlight
hanging high above her head
her life was nothing spectacular
she unimportant at least
her death will no doubt will be the same
or so he said
if she knew then what she knows now
she wouldv'e stayed away
he said he loved her best
but when she tried to leave
he stood blocking the doorway
if she wouldn't be his
she just wouldn't exist
so he slid the blade 'cross her throat
freedom finally came
but came with a price
she had to pay in blood
he left her one last gift
the sight of the pale moonlight