She came from her room

Where the doe eyes shone

A general mess

Dripping blood on the floor

On her heels and dress.

Someone left her alone.

“You must always look nice 

For a special occasion”

And for a time she sang this 

Just days before she thought best

To end her life.

butcher knife liaison

Demonstrating this.

Her purple heels smeared red blood

On the tiles speckled blue.

Before she nearly fell

In that chair for a while

And I held her together

As best as I could,

For what else could I do? 

But I didn’t know blood

Could flow like it would

For I was a child.

On that day they took

My mother away.

A once beautiful creature

 Turned rabid and wild.

Dragged from the foyer

Screaming my name.


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Filed under poem, poetry

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