She lay inert on her back
Of time she had lost all track.
Her hand dangling off her bed
The hand that spurted blood, deep red
Poisoned with sick agony
It flowed, quiet and steady
Slowly, slowly…
They called her loony, mad, insane
They couldn’t see the monstrous pain
Couldn’t see the evident confusion
About discriminating love and delusion
They only saw her fade from sanity
Slip away from the rest of humanity
Slowly, slowly…
At the very end of consciousness
She felt fleeting tenderness
For those who loved her, or attempted to
Rock that she was, they couldn’t get through
She heard the clock hand ticking away
Felt her life beginning to ebb away
Finally…
I almost missed the comment you posted long back in my blog. You write good poetry. Why don't you send me an invite to your other blogs?
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