Her wrist sliced,
very badly.
Blood dripping to her fingertips,
and staining the carpet.
Tears start streaming down my face.
I can't stop,
and I shouldn't stop.
My dad rushes in the room,
and immediately grabs me and
pulls me into a tight hug.
He looks at the rope,
that held her body.
Tied to the top of our bunk bed,
the rope tightly stretched.
Her head hung forward,
and her body limp.
Next to her,
a stool.
My mother came home right after,
and we showed her.
She kept a straight face when we walked into the room,
not showing much emotion.
She called the police,
and they came to take her away.
I yell at her,
my mother,
about how she could do this.
She defended herself,
saying
she was at work.
That this was my fault.
I'm her sister.
Her big sister.
I'm supposed to stop her.
But I know it's just because she can't take the blame.
She knew what was going on,
she just didn't care.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay, maybe the next one won't be any type of poem. Just a random form. I hope you liked it.
~liquidmoonlight74/Olympusaddict
YOU ARE READING
Darkest Times
PoetryYou might not have a difficult life, but millions of others do. They might seem like they're alone, but they're not. The darkest times of our lives are the ones that will stay with us forever.
