She by иєш Ñ*kÑ-и

She holds my life,
In her hands,

She hands me a knife,
So there’ll be blood all over the land,

I won’t fight it,
There’s no denying it,

She wants me dead,
With a bullet of lead,

She won’t miss me,
Or even shed a tear,

For she has killed me,
In cold blood,

Not physically,
But in my head, mentally.


© Samantha Jayne Reed
Wrote on July 15th, 2004