Broken Poetry

A Person of the Past

I used to be a nightmare. A horror to the eyes, blood covered hands, and the image of a little girl wielding a knife walking down the midnight street. Fear filled eyes followed her stealthy steps, making no sound as her boot hit the gravel. Darkness filled her eyes, her stares and her smile. Poison covered her skin, throwing those she loved into dark spells of pain. Lost and broken... wanting to spread her pain, she cuts open the thighs of another soul, and laughs with pure pleasure. She's a nightmare not to be messed with. She is who I once was.