Death Of Valentines Poem by Merlin Mwaura

I lost it yesterday,
I Sort a blade and went for cupid...
She said I was hurting her,
I said, ' I know! '
Now I hold her head,
blood trickling to the floor
these eyes so wide open...
like glass beads reflecting,
the image of my own
heartless soul.

I hid the body under my carpet,
now I got a big lump in my room.
I warned her the day would come,
February fourteenth,
I walk now with withered petals,
I'd pluck them all
but I figured this looked better.
I have bloodied finger prints on my face,
she surely put up a fight.

I have branded this as romance,
She will haunt me now forever,
I will have nothing for her to forgive.
I will only have me
and her head if she wants it.
I think,
I took things too seriously this time,
when she placed a flower vase on my desk.
I broke the wood and made a coffin,
I even managed a wreath,
To place it on her tomb stone.

I hold a shovel now,
deep in the hold of a lover's night,
cold breeze comforts me,
as I dig a shallow grave.
Pretty round ball,
me and her had a ball,
crept up walls,
said nothings and a lot of something’s
I pity her horrible fortune
had life and great aim...
the arrow in me is proof of it.

I am dried of tears,
empty sockets of dark space.
I am pale of years,
Killed the hundredth of these...
I am tied of fears,
stuck in a web down my basement.
I have not yet seen
the cupid that slay me here.

They will follow the bloody trail,
Lonely gathering of cupid sympathizers,
I will take photos of them all,
Hit list them till I have at last,
one who sympathizes with mine,
that one cupid who slain,
deep with arrow,
where I forbid it!
I will not hesitate then
to proceed,
and conquer her kin.

For finally I will attend,
my valentine's death!