No. 77

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Pick me up in stages,
let my knuckles drag,
and my head drop and loll,
mouth open, struggling to breathe.
Let my eyes roll back,
and wait for my pulse to become
so feint..
that the fingers pressed
to my neck would have to be so still
just to feel any signs of life.
Hide and seek with timing,
and the only evidence lies
in how fast the blood dries up
and clots.
And then ask me.
Do you want to live?

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7 thoughts on “No. 77

  1. Ouch. A question indeed,
    Then I think if you were a child what a doctor would do.
    Would they see you as just another meat Popsicle to play with?
    If you dared ask them for release would they beg a court to place you in their ‘custody’ so they can play on?
    Would they ban your relatives from ‘interfering’ returning to court to ensure their play thing was ‘safe’?
    Done it, seen it, and still have nightmares about it.
    And it wasn’t even my child.

    Liked by 2 people

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