she stares at the mirror
and believes she can never live
again not after what those
seven men have done to her

the mirror cracks and sobs,
tears of blood,
dripping from the glass
daylight wither,
even the moon dies
and eternal darkness clothes
her future

Her heart wears a sackcloth
tattered and torn,
now she’s caught in a mental crossroad,
thinking,
where did she go wrong?
it was not her,
but the bitter foul of destiny
that seemed to omit
the feast of happiness
from every part of her life

the vultures of insecurity
are encircling,
so does the laughing crow,
perching on the unfriendly, gray sky,
grinning at her romantic demise,
what that her destiny?
that sucks

she couldn’t take it anymore,
there was poison on the table,
she drank it happily,
smiling at her swift departure
after she vomited pints and
pints of blood after ten minutes.
                                                 By Kakraba Afful