Psychotic Sweetheart

My room turns cold,
although the heater is on.
it stinks here…
like expired milk, rotten meat and corn.
the door closes on its own,
a dark shadow follows,
i close my eyes and hope,
that it goes back to its gallows.
sweat drips from my neck and onto the floor,
when i open my eyes to no sound,
i see a blood and gore;
spilled everywhere, like soft cushions,
for a second, i thought i was dreaming, an epic aggression.
what took me by surprise was that i had a baseball bat in my hand,
it had fragments of brain and skin and hair twirled around it, like a friendship band.
i became breathless, i dropped the bat,
and ran out the room, like an helpless rat.
but the door wouldn’t budge,
i tried yanking it open, twisting and turning the knob;
though in vain, i swore ‘what the fudge.’
i was stuck, i was alone,
in my apartment, i thought there was a ghost.
but in reality, none of them exist,
it was just my mind, playing silly tricks.
the bat was mine, the brains were my lovers,
i hated him, for he cheated me,
so i killed him, forgetting to wear my leather gloves.
suddenly, i wasn’t feeling regret,
i fell on my knees, and took out a pack of cigarettes.
i lit it up, the smell intoxicated me,
i took a puff, and i felt free.
like a bird escaping from its cage,
i drowned my rage–
in the guts and blood of my beloved dead.
— insane lovers; obsession, possession, domination. 

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