Category: Writers Block
Written for a friend and because I needed to write from the point of view of an inanemet object for writers club. She loved it.
The dagger of relief:
She holds me in her trembling hand,
I will touch her skin as I did before.
And I hate myself for causing her pain.
Or is it relief I bring, I'm no longer sure.
But when the hot blood flows, like the reddest of tears,
she puts me down with a sigh.
because she felt the pain she so dearly wanted,
and I have no way to ask her why.
I know they ask about the scars I cause,
why she hides her skin from the light.
because I know my gleaming, razer edge,
Touches her, in the dark, long night.
But her sweating hand moves not towards her arm,
she moves me now to her chest.
and she cries out as she places me against her heart.
Knowing my touch will accomplish the rest.
and so I end her life as she falls to the bed,
hating myself, desperately wanting to care.
and I wonder, had someone ever asked her what was wrong,
would she still be lieing there?
This reminds me of a drive-by shooting I once witnessed. A young man, who must've been about 23 years old, was killed right in front of my house. I could hear his girlfriend crying out for one of my neighbors to call an ambulance. The body lay there on the sidewalk all through the night. Days later, the young man's father was interviewed on television and he was expressing his sadness at the loss of his son and was angry that no suspects had been apprehended. In spanish he said that something should be done about gun control and, with pain in his voice, he said: "Nomas los arboles vieron los fantasmas que mataron a mi hijo" (Only the trees saw the phantoms who killed my son). Only the trees...
Wow, this is very deep. Good job. As for what the the grieving father said on TV, that's very sad. It's such an awful thing to see someone going through so much pain.