I Am Not God

Silent screams echo these halls.

Scent of unwashed blood

Lingers on finger tips.

Tip toe… tip toe…

I hope I’m not next.

Head hung low,

Eyes shift away.

She begs for help

With wordless glances,

Kneeling as if in prayer.

I am not God.

I cannot save her.

Tip toe… tip toe…

Around her quivering body.

Guide that inspired this poem: 

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