The "Loss" This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

Drowned,

Your fiery fist deep in my jaw

Silence,

Pours over my shrieks of pain

I feel it pulsating through every

inch of my skin,

“Go die!” I scream.

Instant regret,

The words are harsher than your

sharpest blow,

We have the doctor’s papers,

We know my demand isn’t too

farfetched:

You may die soon.

The no named germs are eating away

at your skin,

Somehow slipping into your soul,

You step back, shocked,

As if I’m the one who just punched

you--

The umpteenth time

And, guilty as I feel,

I can’t help but feel nothing

Every time the doctor’s head shakes

You may die, really this time

But I wonder if what you have

Can really be considered a life





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