I begin where she ends,
I take my first breath.
She breaths her last.
Hurt and deceived,
Misused, mistreated,
We both face devastated futures.
Blood shot eyes,
Tear stained face,
Who says words don’t hurt?
Young and innocent,
Full of pain.
She dangles in the claws of mutiny,
Her last breath, or the absence of it rather,
Her first real absence of fear and agony,
A stone with an angel hangs above her now,
Smiling like she never could.
No pain or fear hiding behind it
Because death finally brings her life,
For her life never did.
Words no longer pummeled her,
However they flow in an unending circle,
Now, my first breath,
I wish I never took.
Soon,
I will follow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great flow well done