"Keep pressure on the wound
to stop the bleeding."
"You keep ice on the bruises
to ease the swell."
But how much pressure can I stand
until my body finally cracks
and my bones shatter
beneath the weight of my own thumbs
How much ice must I cling to
until my fingers go blue
and the frigid rot creeps up my limbs
black as the marks it was intended to remedy
For how much longer
do I hold pressure on the wound?
How long must I remain in the cold?
And what would happen
if I were to bleed?
To freeze?
Would I simply die where I lay?
Or would I finally be alive?
AE Greene
02.12.2024
YOU ARE READING
Greener | A Collection of Poems
PoesieA collection of poems and pieces for when you are waiting for the world to be green again. TW: Mental Illness, Death, SA
