Worn like a pendant,
Hands clasped about the neck,
And. Still. Beating.
She smiles, warmly as a cat,
Caresses it gently, patting the
Lifeblood away with the pads of her hands.
“Not my fault, really,” she purrs.
“(I didn’t know it would bleed.)
I only liked the colours,” she pouts.
“The spanglesparkled red and purple,”
And the thudub of life.
But. There he lies,
Love’s victim. As she
Preens and strokes,
Gaping chest where the
Dreams once sat.
My only poetic success to date! This poem won me a £100 prize from the University of Newport, with a presentation ceremony and an impromptu reading. It was a national competition and as part of the event I got to talk to real creative writing students at the University. I think that was when I decided I wanted to study creative writing. /backstory