| Seventeen
Sterile walls in horrific dreams A scalpel glistens incandescently As I await my doom of seventeen years Squeaking shoes down vinyl halls The whitecoated reaper delivers his sermon With detached air of a serial killer Scratching pen on scrap of paper My salvation to be taken Twice a day, not once forgotten Secreted blood in long rubber tubes Draws up and away from transparent arms Black bruises stand testament Sepia evening in cell of four years The walls, shoes, pen, and blood flood back As strands of hair dance gracefully to the floor Christina Wall |