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.
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