Plotting the Perfect Murder

A powerful story shared on Sisterwives

The SisterWives

There are times when words aren’t enough to describe the way someone else’s words have made you feel. Times when you fall head-over-heels in WriterLove for their expressions, their cleverness, their capability, and the wonder of what they create. And when that person turns their words to recount some of the most horrific events of their life…you are transfixed – speared by them as though each sentence were steel, holding you fast against the corkboard edges of your mind. It is my honour to share this piece by Crystal Cook – Lizzi

Planning the perfect murder

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2 thoughts on “Plotting the Perfect Murder

  1. ltdmtl

    Hi Carrie,
    I thought this was an amazing poem and could share here. I’m unsure of the author but believe everyone can relate and it will hopefully inspire as well.

    You said we were soul mates
    And I wanted to believe
    In the story being weaved.
    But while gazing
    Into the pools of my eyes
    You needed the reflection of love
    To fill the abyss within
    The insatiable darkness
    Consuming the light given
    Offering only faint shadows
    In return.

    Yet your twisted vines
    Took root in my heart
    And I had been groomed
    To be a gardener
    Of hollow and wounded landscapes.

    So I clung
    To every glimmer of sun
    That seemed to struggle through clouds
    That never wept
    And never fully thawed
    The frost from the soil
    Yet still tantalized
    When I stood on the edge of defeat
    With the allusion
    Of what the seeds could become.

    And I kept tilling the earth
    Exuding warmth with my efforts
    Securing fragile tendrils
    With caring limbs
    Giving nourishment
    From my internal spring.

    But the promise of buds
    Did not flower
    From your stunted boughs
    For the parched ground
    Could not be slaked
    And the thirsty spasms of your vines
    Pierced me with their thorns
    But you did not notice I was bleeding
    My life slowly seeping
    Until I was a shadow of my self.

    They say love heals all wounds
    And this is a lesson hard won.
    I am no longer tending your landscape.
    I am tending my garden instead.



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