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When?
April 17, 2021
Warm blood trickles into ripped, stained cloth.
Mom hurriedly seeking the drug.
Desperate to stay,
The drink I slug.
The acid burns
But helps clot my gore.
“Stay here with me.” begs my mother.
“I’ll try.” I breathe as I suffer some more.
The shining sword skewered in my stomach,
Piercing the organ with sharpness.
May I be relieved
Of this raw soreness?
This pain that is
So tender that I
Unbearably yet smoothly bleed?
Cold currents chill my core as
I feel the weight of my body get lighter as
Warm blood trickles into ripped, stained cloth.
© Brynne L., Williamsburg, VA
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This is a narrative poem that was originally made for an English project.