Stillborn.
Languishing in liquids... cowering with eyes unopened,
Suspended...drifting...floating... in a solitary tomb,
Her mother’s womb. ..
She stutters, coughing, croaking, life restricted, almost choking,
Charred lungs from dope that mom’s been smoking...
Strokes the coating of her prison with a feeble finger nail,
Doting on the one connector who impounds her in this jail...
Her source of life...her coffin nail...narrator in this sorry tale...
Of death...
She wept for birth and freedom, for her fragile heart to beat between them,
Hemming them in... kicking, screaming from substances unknown,
Wanting alone to be the reason...her courage, potency receding...
A knotted chord restricts her breathing and pumps this flame abroad...
The burning rush of heroin...
The searing cramps that mom ignored...
Blood boils beneath her blazing skin...the scorching heat,
Fevers within, her lungs implode in narcotic flame,
Chaotic shaking rocks her fragile frame, and then a burst of igneous pain,
That withers the cells in her heat-oppressed brain,
The fatal dose via the vein of the one who flushed life down the drain...
Quite literally.....
She pulls the chain...
A half-formed life is flushed away...
And she’s to blame...
She sits tormented on bloodstained sheets
And silently weeps for the life that might have been...