A WIFE’S SORROW

Your words are like knives
That cut through my skin.
My head down in shame
Hiding the tears that’s within.

I tried to hide my mistake

CHILD OF MINE

I heard your first cries,
Saw your tiny feet
and big bright eyes.

I held you in my arms,
So tiny and frail.

The slut that lives within is ready to break free,
to fulfill every fantasy, every want and every need.
To hell with the conscience and the price that I may pay,

My body was the battlefield that bore the scars of life,
stretch marks, bruises, aches and pains, even taken to the knife.
Battle scars will fade, but never go away, the pain it took to make

This poem is in no way indicating that I am going to commit suicide. Although I have thought about it a couple of times. They are only words that I would use if I were to write a "suicide note".