Fatherly Love

There is red thick blood shed
A cold dead heart on the floor
A hunched over girl in a old wooden rocking chair
Lips as cold and blue as ice
And there in the vertical corner sits a man
A man with chestnut brown hair and rose red lips
A man with a cold steel knife in his sweaty hands
There are bright blue and reds lights upon the street
As the crude police men come up to the already broken down door
They walk upon the creaky wooden floor to see what there is to be seen
The corner man has only this to say…”That is my daughter.”