Upon Her Chest

-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