Venom flows inside her veins—
rushing speeds increase the pain.
A simple cure does not exist
to exorcise its turns and twists—

beyond the faults she cannot see—
poisoned with sludge—eternally…
life choices made run deep within—
she's committed one too many sins.

Time slothful as her blackened blood—
untreated—congeals like crusty mud.
Add guilt and shame, threads turn to lead—
petrified in a flat-line, her frail body
dead.


To explain - I had some intense feelings about my little sister's death yesterday (the anniversary is near) and wrote this poem.She was just a teenager when she took her life. ~P