18+ A really dark poem about a lady wounding herself in a way in which she cannot be saved |
-Upon Her Chest- by Keaton Foster Upon her chest Left of her breast A gaping wound Self-inflicted doom An over indulgence Steadily carved Straight was the razor Efficient and fast Deep and without mercy Now Treacherously exposed Her beating heart Fighting each spark Speculation at best It must want to leap From her frail body Which would of course Render her deceased Leaving her vacant Devoid of any real life And all sustenance She held the blade She was unafraid She was able to cut deep Damn near through bone Raw and exposed She screams to no one The pain has become more Then she can feel More than she has ever known Her body, full of defenses Fights by flooding endorphins In a state of sporadic shock She is for now protected Such falsehoods won’t last Such mechanisms Will not save her In the end They will only fail her Her supple nipples Purposefully crippled She cannot nurse her young It may live for a time Briefer, without her It will succumb to starvation It will never know her love Between life and death Very little has changed Maybe if it is found Next to her corpse Somehow it can be spared Its only chance is to scream Maybe a passerby will hear Maybe a stranger could save it It might be the same stranger That could not save her Upon her chest A self-inflicted wound Damn near through bone Her heart beats in rage It wants to leave Leaping from her chest Allowing both to escape What has been done What they will become Fountains of blood spray Covering everything red Flooding what’s left Staining her world Thus changing ours Upon her chest There is a wound A self-inflicted way To make her point She will die As she once wished Nothing of reason can save her From herself and what she has done Her baby, the brood of her life Lays close by, crying as to why Such an answer will not come… Upon Her Chest Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014 |