When To Kill Poem by C. Bake Baker

Clutching the arm of a redden ash chair,
reaching for something in the folds of her hair.
He pulled a small piece of those proud fearless strands
and realized the effect of her long-soughted plans.

Things she left behind and pain she left with him
Burns inside his body although her life grows dim.
He was eternally racked with the smell and shame
of harvesting the shapes that laid all the blame.

He couldn't kill her, he had to finally decide
how to take a life, and how to hear her cry.
Blood in his tears drip on every piece
causing the spears of her voice to decrease

Until they were a whisper in bottom of his head,
smiling and laughing with his precious dead.
Nothing compares, and nothing ever will
to the parts of the mind that decide when to kill