Posted in Women Who Think to Much

Angel Down

Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie


She was young, she was free and she was whole
slivers of brilliance shone from her unfettered soul.
He drank from her radiant spirit; yet, his thirst was never quenched.
She became bone-weary, drained, wings tangled in his barbed wire fence.
Held the wire cutters in his right hand; should have set the fallen angel free.
Alas, his left hand was wrapped around the memory of what she used to be.
“Dead or alive,” he shouted into the night, “you are mine, you belong to me.”
She was drained, she was drained. ‘Twas not a whisper of resistance to be heard,
unless you counted her quiet tears, her anguished moans of pain so absurd.
His darkness disfigured a creature of sunshine and light,
but her prison was formed by her need to be loved by him each night.
Her own imperfections allowed her to be nothing and
her soft brown…

View original post 46 more words

Love to hear from you...

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s