How A Poet Lives Part 9 (9lives) Poem by Bron Dayvid

I was born with a rare disease
The rarest of all diseases
Injection after injection so the pain would ease
But the pain never ceases.

In grade school we took a field trip to the lake
End-of-the-year celebrate
We all played
Boy chased girl, she chased him
“Last one in the lake…” was the one who couldn't swim.

Not the last time I would see an angel
I've had my share of run-ins with lady luck
I've tried life from many angles
I've just about given up

How many times do I have to die before I can live?
How many more lives do I have to give?

I’m afraid to think about her
Because doing so only reminds me of the barren right side of the bed
The pillow still slightly indented from where she laid her head
She was my third life that produced my fourth
She gave her words that soothed remorse
She left with the fifth on the sixth
I sipped and I sipped and I sipped
And I sipped and I sipped and I dripped
And I sipped and I tripped and I cried
But the son had all my tears dried

I grip the tip of clip
Click click click
*inserts*
Why should I exist?
Tick tick tick
One
2
Three
4
5
Six
7
8

(Nine)