CRIME Poem: Bood Stained Vows, by Anavi Bongirwar

I kissed you at midnight, my hands on your skin,
Whispered sweet nothings—concealing my sin.
You thought it was passion, the heat in my stare,
But love turns to murder when built on despair.

The gun in the drawer, the poison in wine,
Each sip was a promise—soon, you’d be mine.
A heart full of secrets, a house full of lies,
You begged for redemption, I silenced your cries.

They found you at dawn, cold on the floor,
A note in my writing—”I loved him no more.”
Now steel wraps my wrists, the jury won’t see—
The deadliest weapon was always just me.

The gavel struck hard, my sentence was clear,
Yet none heard the truth I whispered in fear.
They wept for a man with blood on his hands,
While I played the role their story demands.

They spoke of your kindness, the love that you gave,
Not of the nights I fought to be brave.
The bruises, the threats, the locked bedroom door,
The crime wasn’t mine—it started before.

I sit in a cell, but sleep without fright,
No footsteps will wake me alone in the night.
They call it revenge, they call it a crime,
I call it justice—his life for mine.

And if I must burn for breaking my chains,
Let hell take me in, I’ll smile through the flames.
For love isn’t love when it steals your breath,
And sometimes the answer is written in death.