Title: [untitled]
by Abi from Northamptonshire | in writing, poetry
The crushing of the soul
The torment in the brain
The heart now bears a hole
And tears come down like rain
The house is now a form of hell
It ages, as does she,
The house now produces a smell
Of last week's uneaten tea.
She sits and waits, for his return
On the bed they had once shared
His absences make her stomach churn
As she recites every last word he said
'Ill be back soon, I love you too'
That's what he last said
She has now figured this out to be untrue
As he can't feel now he's dead
Her beloved husband was killed, by a boy
Who, one day brought a gun
He thought to impress his friends with this new toy
He'd shoot a husband, a dad and a friend, for his idea of fun
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