Ghosted

Twisting words hurled insults upon my visage,

What have I done to deserve this rage?

Didn’t probe a question,

Just a loving suggestion.

What wickedness woven?

My face all swollen.

As if stabbed over and over.,

An insult I couldn’t recover.

Every time I extend a smile,

Thus am I accused of beguile.

This time in a jolly mood,

With all good.

Picking threads of sentiments spoken,

Such net woven .

For my wicked fall,

what game you install?

That I tread over shards of glass,

Hoping this phase would pass.

Burning with pain,

Bearing red stain.

Bleeding to death,

I took my last breath.