Connie's Poem Part Three

Awakened by a chilling voice, the surreal begins. Shattered lives and splattered blood draining from Connie. It seems she passed her life on to me, its my ghost, made not of shame or guilt, but of love and friendship. Her life is mine penned in ink, like the blood flowing that awful night. The victim of Domestic Violence not fate, not God, but Man, her man who is not a man anymore. Sorrow is my weapon, my ink forever.