Emily Winters                                                                                                     

Silver Cyanide

Poison threads its way through her veins,

A deadly silver needle aimed straight for the heart;

A passionate love affair with painted blue lips,

A killer’s weapon wielded by familiar hands.

The nest of safety invaded,

So vulnerable when we are safest…

She built a cradle of love to rest her heart,

But it was asphyxiated.

A wrap of thread entwining,

No space remaining for love to breathe;

Choking on the darkness in her lover’s eyes,

Choking on the empty cradle rocking in her chest.

Silver cyanide sang a lullaby,

And then,

She died.