The day before I die

The clock strikes ten.
Clasp my hands and with upturned eyes,
How many times do I forsake these skies?
Look back down, see the summer frost,
Big bad sins come at such a cost.
The day before I die, I sit on the dirty ground,
Head turned thoughtfully and eyes cast down.
Why did I have to be so stupid?
Why did I have to kill him, small Cupid?
Because of rash and undecided actions,
I find myself here with my meager rations.
Find myself in a very dark, dank lair,
Where mice dart in and out of my hair.
Now my hands are shackled, they pull me out,
Their taunting words echoing about.
Poor girl, they sneer. Poor poor girl.
Most stupid murderer in all the world.
And the clock strikes eleven.
Shuffle to your cell, they say.
They push, and on the ground I lay.
Struggling to sit back upright now,
I feel as helpless as a pregnant mother sow.
The guards laugh and close the door,
Leaving me staring at the darkening floor.
Stare, girl, I say. Stare all you like.
In the next one hour your head’ll be on a spike.
Stupid, foolish, idiotic girl.
Most stupid murderer in all the world.
The day before I die, almost over,
And I pick up my last clover.
Help me, I pray. My only hope, help me.
My eyes, upturned to God for him to see.
And the clock strikes twelve.