by Davina Rush

Created on: February 26, 2010   Last Updated: June 30, 2011

The death that is mine

Deep lacerations bleeding unchecked,

flowing with a pain that cannot heal.

Ripped and torn apart, broken and wrecked,

the torment is all that she feels.

The wounds try to mend but she’ll open them again,

she opens them each time she dares to trust...

Reaching for hope and that's where it will begin,

cut once more on faith's knife, covered in rust.

Self-destruction prevails in one who can't believe,

pouring the salt of self-punishment inside.

Every cut is filled with that sharp pain as she grieves,

A deep searing ache that torments where it hides.

Salted wounds are stitched closed with a promise,

but the tiny grains burns deep within and she screams.

Her lips are sewn shut, he wants her silence,

and she is cursed, feeling every ache in extreme.

Her thoughts are quiet, though inside she is tortured,

Screaming quietly behind smiling tear stained eyes...

So many things that she wants to ask... to be reassured,

But she knows that she will have to live with the "whys"

She writhes with tormenting hurt deep in her heart and soul,

The salt sealed inside consumes with a bitter sting.

As fresh wounds bite into flesh with the blades that she holds,

Emotions painted in the blood that they bring.

She looks at each blade, each so deep in it's mark,

Blood stained and still flowing, how much can she take?

The angry red against her pale skin seems so stark,

Blood on flesh are the promises that we make.

Promises that shatter into sharp pieces that impale,

Bleeding out the ability to trust, one drop at a time.

Dying inside, feeling the pulse of faith fade as it fails,

Listening to the silence of the death that is mine.

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