What Harm Would It Do?

 Clutching my chest

The knives shake through my body

My skin is milk fresh from the freezer

Wrapped in old newspaper thrown away

My mind is staled

My consciousness lies to itself

And I cry my shadow tears

My profile gone, lost in the dark

The fowl liquid squanders what’s left of my throat

I hear your voice somewhere

Remembered from times before

“Just take the whole bottle what harm would it do?”

Staring empty mindlessly at the bottle

A sharp pain in my chest

Tears like a creek upon the decaying mask

I’ve worn so long.

I take the bottle

I drag my finger to the lid

“What harm could it do?”

I hear it over and over!

Then suddenly you voice comes from the shallow walk

“On second thought don’t drink the bottle, I have to work tomorrow.”

Your grin so big you’re the Cheshire cat

But WHY!

I stare at your eyes

Not blinking or looking away

You think it’s funny and you laugh

I grab that bottle

Of the fowl liquid that will

Squander what you have left

After the years of pain

What you have left of what you call a daughter.

I close my eyes tight

I tear up

I open the bottle

And whisper

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a pity once again”

I lift the bottle high

I tumble to the tear stained floor

And I lie there

I do not wake

And all I hear is

“What harm could it do?”