The Small Price of death

 

 

She wears her long sleeves, even in the summer, To cover her secret, to cover her shame.

 

It’s the only thing shes ever found, that quiets down her pain.

 

These holes placed neatly on her skin, battle wounds, like bullet holes. 

 

They’ll be her illustrations for lost dreams and and un-kept goals.

 

She lived through war like most before, and god had spared her life. 

 

But every night she’ll curse his name and beg him for his knife.

 

It’s dark outside, no one can hear. She draws a shallow breath. 

 

Just Come home girl, feel no more pain. 

And pay the price; it’s death. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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