The welting flower
her dying soul
chained wings
to a cold stone floor
breathing her last breath
sighing her last sigh
living her last moment
amoungst the thought beyond
what you could ever grasp
Hard, rough, stiff
in her stifling fear
eyes wide in longing
longing to disappear
enclosed in her soft hand
a simple gold locket
she'll carry to the end
inside there is a picture
of an event she knows well
one she'll never forget
one she wish she would.
The picture is her
in a room white and flowered
she is smiling within her innocence
a young boy of two or three
smiling
sits upon her knee
laughing at ladybug
which has climbed up his arm
missing those days
wishing she could
call them her present
she thinks
she remembers him
she lays the locket upon the
wooden casket
with a yellow rose
good bye
one tear falls from her cheek
as she stares at the casket
knowing
she was the one who should've been there
she turns around walks away
whispering inside her head
the voices tell her
it's not OK!
