Blood Stained, But Now Alive
My head bows in complete silence, my brain pulsing with blood.
Her seemingly lifeless body lays there, her eyes bulging and breath slowly dying.
She lays there on her complete and final deathbed, as I sit there with my own life to tend to.
I didn’t pay attention to her screams, though she made them known day to day.
Here I hold the answer to her pain.
I hold the answer and don’t speak, don’t take action.
Why can’t I move, for she is loved?
Why don’t I take her pain, and turn it into something worth living for, worth dying for.
Her face growing ever paler each day, I watch her suffer and decay from the inside out.
My mouth reacts, I want to speak, my brain quick to say, no, don’t, me believing Satan’s lie.
As my eyes move toward the sight of her struggling screams of solitude, blood flowing from her wrists.
I sit here with, a needle and thread, but never sow up the fatal cuts she has inflicted on herself.
On that final day, when she finally takes her last breath, her beautiful heart makes its dying beat, will I too fall into an endless fight of guilt and pain?
I cannot stand by and watch her smiles fade; her laughs disappear like an echo in a never ending valley of a meaningless life.
I will put myself aside, pick up a needle and thread, heal her wounds, show her the way to eternal life.