By The Knife

Lanced, deep within the soul,
So quickly, so fiercely,
Aching persists.
Creating my every thought, to be a memory of him.
The words, they were overwhelming.
Harsh.
And so very well chosen.
Blood, eases from my veins,
And takes my every reason for fighting.
For even if I wanted to… I couldn’t.
The blood soon rushes to the soil of my new home.
My tombstone shall be the tree,
My body clings to for support.
Alas, the wind breaks a limb.
And the gentle touch is the pressure to release my soul.
I have left.
This is what I have seen.

10-6-1989
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: This was for a writing challenge 28 years ago

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