The morning after scent

Of stale desperation

Lingered on what remained

Of the dignity she packed

for eternal damnation

As two tired nurses, a nice doctor,

A seasoned police officer,

All who'd seen it all,

Prescribed her violation

As nothing special

Before sticking it to her

For two more hours

With a sterilized kit and questions

She could not swallow.

So later alone,

all alone in her home,

Right back where it all began,

The sacrificial lamb

Bowed her head:

"Lord take my soul."

"For any one who eats and drinks

without discerning the body

eats and drinks judgment

upon himself."

Then, with two perfect, vertical cuts,

Spilled out her blood

For the forgiveness of sins

That were not her own.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!

Author guidance for This poem

"Closing Time" and "The Morning After" are my worst fear poems.
Feel free to add your fear poem if it strikes your fancy (and you want to think about horrible things and try to make them sound like poetry.)

updated Jul 13 '10 by C3Lady