If one time I wrote of horror and dread <br />Words of pain and sorrow, wishing to be dead <br />Believe always I write only of pages <br />A bizarre twist of darkness, passed down from the ages <br /> <br />Scorned, it was easy to write the worst <br />Of all damned to hell, to be forever cursed <br />Easy to turn a broken fingernail into a sawed off arm <br />Easy to make up things full of terror and harm <br /> <br />A talent to muse and keep the reader awake <br />To grip the reader, to grab, hold and shake <br />Reaching the point of reality so close and so real <br />Overpowering a reading moment, seconds to feel <br /> <br />Exaggeration of what I know for some to be so true <br />I only invented ugly stories involving you <br />Your anger was there, but not used and out of control <br />I am so sorry for my words, they took their toll <br /> <br />I was hurt and wrote very dangerous, bad things <br />My heart soared high, then you busted up my wings <br />I would condem you to hell with what I would write <br />You killed me hard and fast and we had been so tight <br /> <br />My writing is not to be used to hurt anyone <br />It is really over, I am not with you, what is done is done<br /><br />Deborah Cromer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vindictive-3/
