Bad Blood

a bride walks down the aisle,
staggers on one foot,
& you can hear a poet
stutter like her footsteps at every step.
she hides her form underneath her veil,
wears her father’s corpse on her face
like the holy candle praying for a future.

when the piano starts to play, we can

hear frogs croaking to an unfamiliar rhythm, from
deep down throaty laughs of a certain someone
or people

alongside ruptured chords.
we all stand,
not sure what the bridegroom’s lips call
to the altar.

Bad Blood by ad_poet

Published by Akubudike Deborah

a very determined writer (poet and lyricist), hoping to change the world positively with writing, public speaking, spoken word poetry, music (songwriting), dancing, and lots more. let's encourage each other and live the life we deserve 😇😇.

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