Deeper and deeper your poison is flowing
Turning me into a person I never wished of knowing
With every bitter word you scream
I never imaged someone to be so mean
The sting of every hit you give
All these bruises I don't want to relive
I try to be everything you want
Proving I'm more than just a can't
But once I hear the beer can pop
I know it will be hours before you stop
I'll give you all that I can
Hoping tonight I don't feel your hand.
About the Creator
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
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