FLIPPED TRUTH

Her veil is
thorn,
Up, down, right,
left, centre.
The innocence of her
prudence destroyed.
Just a dark hybrid,
uncategorized.
Woman,
hold on to me,
Yet her hands
shatter,
Her plain smile
grunts,
Caressing the guns
of death.
Give her one last
stare;
You turned her, into
that stone-cold,
love assassin.

<a href="I Want to Know What Love Is“>

Ruth Brodrick
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