My Dear Anne
She sits in front of me, She moans and complains, She nags way too often, Ooh she cranks my chains! One day she was moody, “You’re so pathetic” she said, I looked back at her and replied, “I wish you were dead.” She makes me so mad, Why can’t she behave? She’s been a pain for too long! It’s time I dig her a grave. Gone will be my wife, The one I would do anything for, A woman who I loved, The one I use to adore. It really is quite simple, You see I just need a plan, I need to sit and think, How to kill my dear Anne. And now she must vanish, She must leave never to annoy, I think I will stretch her limb from limb! How lovely, something I think I will truly enjoy. No, no that just won’t do, I need something a little easier to acquire, Ah yes how simple, what was I thinking? I shall set her on fire! No, no, that wont work, Again that’s going to far, She’ll go up in flames, And my ceiling will scar. That’s it! I know what to do! I think I will poison her, She won’t have a clue! I will make her dinner, I will poor her wine, Then I’ll drop it in, And then we shall dine. So I made a toast, And I raised my glass, I smiled at her unsuspecting face, Knowing soon she would pass. And when she’s good and gone, I will cry and then I will weep, She will be buried in my walls, That is where she will sleep. I finished my toast, Grinned and I drank from my cup, She finished her wine quick, Never to wake up. She looked very unpleasant, And her head wobbled around, She dropped her cup, And she mumbled a sound. She looked up and moaned, “My dear Victor I feel so drawn, suddenly I’m so ill and faint.” And then she was gone. My dear she is dead, What a relief, I feel so much better Yet so little grief. I got up to dispose of her, but thought that would be rude. First I shall sit here And finish my food. The smell of the my dinner, so pleasant and sweet. My tongue tingled and watered at the very thought of the meat. I picked up my fork, I ate all from plate. I finished it quickly, So I could burry my mate. My turkey was bitter, It tasted like pine, I felt so dizzy, I knocked over my wine. I can’t believe it, I didn’t have a clue! I should have known, Known she wanted me dead too. So there we slept In our dining room to decay Touché my dear Anne, Touché.
My Dear friends, I invite you to come look at my new community called Poetry For Price. If you are a fan of all things macabre, come look at some work or post your own. It was created in memory of the late Vincent Price and Edgar ALlan Poe.
Take a look and enjoy!
POETRY FOR PRICE