Categories > Original > Poetry
Jane Doe
1 ReviewsThey found her body by the river.
I never knew her name.
White skin icy to the touch,
Rotten in her makeshift tomb.
I won't forget those empty eyes,
Glazed and swollen under bright lights.
My own watered at her stench,
Stomach clenching, pure disgust.
Teeth shone through her arrogant smile
So indifferent.
I know she calls me,
Begs me to heed her.
All of us have tales to tell,
Hers was carved in crusted blood
On her breast.
Lacerations stuffed with maggots
Tell of horrors she has seen.
They search the scene, but who are they
To look upon the arts of death?
For none who breathe can see the gate
And those who pass cannot return.
I never knew her name.
White skin icy to the touch,
Rotten in her makeshift tomb.
I won't forget those empty eyes,
Glazed and swollen under bright lights.
My own watered at her stench,
Stomach clenching, pure disgust.
Teeth shone through her arrogant smile
So indifferent.
I know she calls me,
Begs me to heed her.
All of us have tales to tell,
Hers was carved in crusted blood
On her breast.
Lacerations stuffed with maggots
Tell of horrors she has seen.
They search the scene, but who are they
To look upon the arts of death?
For none who breathe can see the gate
And those who pass cannot return.
I never knew her name.
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