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kylie

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

1 poem·Since May 2013
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The Signs

May 31, 2013
It's really odd how one can go from looking healthy to the frail ball that lay asleep now. So called treatment causing blonde hair to fall out in clumps, features to look sunk. Winded in blankets, bedpan close by in case lunch reappears Thin, almost transparent eyelinds showing red veins. TV sputtering in the background. He shifted in his sleep. Staggered breath. Soft. quiet steps. Standing close, I scoot him. Pulling blankets over top of me. Small body threatening to break if slightly bumped. Skin yellow, alerting others of the inevitable. Matched breath as tears fall, knowing there is nothing that can be done to help him. Not old enough to know the evils of the world but old enough to know the pain.
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