Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

a blanket of roses

over her lithe body,

and candle wax

on her pale fragile face.

no crimson flowing,

and her eyelids locked.

drowned in eternal peace.

once she consumes heaven,

oh, she’ll be beautiful.

but haunted by vices,

dances on carcases

and malice she wore

displays her wrath.

how graceful she laid there,

how beautiful she once was.

what beauty

can hell make of her?

⠀⠀⠀mypoetrysignature2

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