It started as a paper cut,
It Didn’t really bleed,
An unmistakable sting,
But not really even red.
I didn’t think it was my fault,
We all can make mistakes,
So I did what I was told was right
And all his blame did take
But wounds kept happening to me,
More frequently and larger;
Soon I noticed gaping holes;
And covering them was harder
Almost too late I began to notice,
The wounds were so precise,
The depth and each location chosen
Carved by a surgeons knife
But this wasn’t healing pain
The agony, beyond deep
These were destructive mortally
And my soul began to weep
See, each time the surgeon promised
He was only doing what was best
But soon my life eviserated
Lay heaped upon my chest
I began to wake up, foggy brained
And see things as they were
And then realized with great horror
His diagnosis was a lure
I wasn’t gravely, tragically ill,
he was the one who was dying
He wanted my life to replace his
And I must die in his trying
The only cure was up to me
I had to leave his death
The poison he was infected with
Would rob my very last breath
The wounds are there in many places
I will always have these scars
But I am slowly healing the hurts
And hanging my own stars
Emma Sophia
10/23/17
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