19 November 2012
The old house on the hill Is cracked, faded, and gray No smoke comes from the chimney No cars in the driveway
No mail is in the postbox The residents are now deceased The blinds are closed, the doors are locked And the furniture's draped in sheets
The girl upstairs is dead and gone Her body still remains Wrapped in the dusty bed sheets Now with crimson stains
Her figure young and beautiful Her face so delicate Her eyes are closed and sightless A dagger to her hip
Intricate lace carved with bloody hands Decorates her skin A goblet's been dropped on the floor That poison was her sin
A priceless locket's around her neck Made with the oldest gold Inscribed are words carried on her dying breath "My story must not be told."
*** I know it's late and won't count, but I just loved the prompt.
A Beautiful Crime • Opuss № I