Marie Bare Poet Free verse

Blood Pouring

I can picture her on her grey carpet floor 
in her 11x10 bedroom.

I see her body,
cold to the touch.

She’s in her royal blue silk pajamas.
Her favorite.

She’s laying on her floor, 
with a knife in her right hand,
left at a 103 degree angle upside down.

Feet sickled so much that 
they could be twisted off in a second.

I see the blood pouring from not only her wounds, 
but her scars.

The nails that dug into her thighs 
are bruised from so much pressure.

The thighs that were dug by her nails
are now white.

I can picture her parents walking in, 
not even looking at her, 
but rather the stain she made 
on the newly-replaced carpet.

“Why’d she do that?”
Everyone will ask.

because of me.

 I think—

no.

i know.

“I don’t know.”

I’ll say instead.

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