What Will She Choose

poem by: Jennifer Drake
Written on Apr 20, 2019

Her search continues,
 sitting in the corner of a dimly lit,
 damp hallway in the corner,
she's rocking on the floor.
Every wall of that house whispers,
 its taunts her,
 and dares her,
 repeating its jests.
Rocking, shes rocking 
a blade glistens as she grips its tighter still,
 salty tears dripping, 
like rapids, twirling her, smashing her broken body into rocks,
 forcing her under to fight for her life.
as her chest implodes. the panic, the strain, 
Breathing she needs to breathe,
 the undertoe;
 is laughing its laughing, pulling her deeper still.
right as her fingers break the surface,
 it snatches her deeper still.
A light, theres a light, its shining, its bright, its calling her name, 
"come this way, I can take the pain away".
NO! NO! NOT THIS DAY!
This light is to clear she wants to stay.
A voice, a voice, a familiar voice, "Baby, dont be afraid"
Mama? MAMA! its her mama, but shes inside the light.
No time, her time is out,
 does she fight or does she cut and take that ending route?
Rocking, shes rocking on a dimly lit damp hallway floor.
Monsters...are they monster or demons circling her head?
Telling her to cut once more and they will  take her away.
The walls are whispering, 
their whispering saying "girl you've had enough"
The light! the light is glistening, as she turns the knife,
 shes out of time...
Did she reach the surface?
Or does she go the light?
Does she go to her mothers voice, a place she knows as home?
CAVING IN..POW..POW.. like electrodes shocked straight to her heart..
seconds, she has seconds..
NOW! GIRL YOU HAVE TO MAKE A CHOICE!
FIGHT GIRL FIGHT!
The light shines brighter,
Mother louder calls her name,
the walls now screaming
The girl turns the blade
It's now! Do it now!
She chose.....she chose....
What did she do?
did she breathe again?
Did she paint that floor the red?
Is she in mothers arm?
.
.
.
Did she survive?

 

Tags: Sad, Metaphor, Depressing, Dark, Deep,

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Nemo Nemees commented on May 06, 2019 at 8:02pm
Man, this one relates to me on a scary scary level. My mother died when I was 10, and four years after that i slit my wrists in the bathroom stall at my school .. your talented Remember that and youll be fine. life will turn out. And if it doesnt, you will figure something out. Poets always do
Frank Hornby . commented on May 07, 2019 at 9:43am
She was born......she survived.....

 

 

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