a poem by Bissme

Every evening
In a fancy decorative room
A ballerina will be dancing on
A floor that is full of
Broken pieces of glass
She does this
As a punishment to herself
For being stupid enough to give
Her precious heart
To a man who took away
Her happiness, pride and dignity
And left her in
Pain, misery and disgrace
In a hour, her dance routine
Came to an end
Now her legs is filled with
Pain and blood
Yet she feels she has not
Punished herself enough
For the silly crime she has committed
Which was to fall in love
With a wrong kind of man