She had fooled them all again;
Hoodwinked them into thinking
She'd be safe outside the locked
Ward; and taking Bronston's cut
Throat razor (he thought he hid
It well) she slit her wrists till
Fountains poured red across her
Clothes and all around; and there
Was that buzzing sound; that voice
Screaming loud inside her head:
I'm free again, free from pain,
Echoing through her freaked out
Brain, slithering along her
Jagged veins, her eyes gazing
At the coming storm of white
And blues; the nurses cursing;
The docs crestfallen over
Their soiled angel, splattering
The room with her crimson rush,
Without care or word or God
Damned curse or a shameful blush.
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Comments: 29
I always say there is no excuse to hurt a child...
Well I also feel there is almost never an excuse to kill one's self.
And that view may very well be why I am alive today--strong lifeforce.
Writers aim to make you feel something, or react strongly to something. It's not necessarily a good something. Sometimes, I wish we'd all write things that are "nicer to read about." (I wish people would stop giving the media such good fodder for their lurid and negative broadcasts each night, too. Give them nothing "not nice" to write about.)
Well done, Terry.
Gather Broadcasting: Have it your way
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