Sweat trickles down ye filthy face,
by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson
fear shows in thine eyes as ye watch thy victim
begin to slowly crawl towards the slightly opened barn door,
crying out pitifully for help which will never come.
In desperation ye grab her, and press her tightly
against thine blood soaked vest till all life is
extinguished from her pale blue eyes.
Ye loved her so, ye could have given him the world,
but alas she chose not ye for her lover.
Ever so gently ye lay her down in the dusty,
hay strewn barn floor. A noise outside startles thee,
in haste ye cover her bloody, limp body with the
strewn hay on that extremely warm summer's day.
Hours pass as ye stand on thine porch
to thine victim's father. Ye are beginning to smell
the stench of her now rotting flesh which is
wafting from the inner recesses of thine barn.
What once gave thine nostrils pleasures
now turns thine stomach in disgust.
Alone at last ye wonder back into thine barn,
leaning over her lifeless form ye begin to cry.
Doest thine mind feel as black as thine soul?
Doest thine bones shiver from the cold in thine heart?
Ye can feel hells wicked fingers crawling up
thine spine as ye reach out for the only
woman ye ever loved, but will never love again.