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sitting in a room that's three doors down,
from a lovely lady in an evening gown.
staring at herself in the vintage vanity,
her eyes shining on the brink of sanity.
the chapel had called her yesterday,
and in the dark halls lay the fiance.
the blood that stained the beautiful dress,
was enough to keep her from going to rest.
she'd witnessed a crime both vain and unjust,
that put her love in a field of untrust.
the woman that spoke, didnt hold her peace,
the one who had cheated was her very own niece.
showed up at the wedding with knife in hand,
she made sure that groom could no longer stand.
then knife to her throat, she ended herself,
the hour that struck was only the twelfth.
frightened, in shock, she cried out in despair,
stumbled and fumbled and felled by a chair.
then carried away was the bride from the groom,
brought, then locked, in her very own room.
as i listen to her cries, i cant help but shudder,
her please to be free, or be put in the gutter.
her family now comes to clean her like dishes,
then bid her farewell and the best of wishes.
upon their departure, a gunshot is heard,
the end of the story is now ensured.
the cops soon rush in to investigate the scene,
the dead bride's expression is far from serene.
she's soon at the morgue with her niece and her lover,
each one showing shame as they hide under cover.
the story hits papers the very next day,
the tragic love story of bride been betrayed.
as i read the headlines, i cant help but frown,
as i was a person who was three doors down.
 Nikith Adeen · Wed May 20, 2009 @ 02:01am · 0 Comments |
