Diseased
Cells.
Saviors mistaken, and fall for them,
Disguised cells within, hiding,
Cleverly causing harm. A mishap,
Chaotic, chronic condition.
Insulin. No more insulin.
Shots taken: nine, ten, eleven,
In order to return
Back to original condition.
She cries, abdominal pain causing
Her tears to to roll down her skin.
Her hand clutching,
The left side of her ribs.
Breathing. Breathe in air with pain,
With utter pain and desperation.
Savior mistaken, no more haven,
Nor protection of her beautiful within.
No aid. No medicine.
Living a miracle. Living a punishment.
The weekdays and weekends.
Did you see her?
Never. Nothing ever happened...
Through it all, she kept smiling.
Beautifully strange.
Unbelievable. Confusing.
____________________________________
I know that she will get better soon. ♡
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten | Poetry & Prose
PoetryH.R #3 IN TOLD | A collection of the told and untold, the hidden and revealed, but everything - all this and everything else - written down in solemn words, in phrases, compiled and collected as poetry and prose.
