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Mar 2021
sharp was the kitchen knife,
dull metal flashing in slash of light
sparking further the embers of evil
that long had been dampened by life
lived in derision of normality
she was nothing but trash
picked up from a back street alley
£20 a time, yet fetish unsatisfied
hands plunged
skin parted
red hole opened, sticky red tide
flowed beneath full moon's rays
mouth opened, teeth gleamed
reddened, her nails clawed at him
as he clawed at ******* exposed
to rain of blows
he saw himself reflected in irises dilated
breath ebbed
kitchen knife washed and dried
returned to kitchen sink drawer
sheila sharpe
Written by
sheila sharpe  74/F/Kegworth
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