ReaLIFE: poeticLINES

She looked up, time seemed frozen.
A day that promised the joy of a weekend well spent, suddenly darkened like thunderclouds over a tropical city.

The words leaving his lips seemed slow. Foreign. Angry.
Then it happened.
The volcano burst. Hot lava spewed over onto her seat, burning her skin. Suddenly, the safe place felt unfamiliar
And each word felt laced with poison, shooting her vital organs. Every breath taken, was forced and the searing shooting spasms and pangs Competed for the 1st place pain prize.
Every dropped tear felt like blood pulsing out from her heart, Which had clearly relocated to her brain.
They were taking away her baby.
Her stomach felt like a piece of shredded chicken,
Each decision of the last 24 hours played in her brain.
Cutting the silence was the occasional rational thought,
No defense was enough to stand the body of evidence against her
And the very thing that originally was her ticket to freedom, were now the cuffs binding her hands. Silence.
Securely her future was set.

The duration of separation imminent. Everything was forced.
The nod of understanding to acknowledge that she wasn’t comatose, was the best form of civility she could muster. Wanted to fight shoot and shout, but nothing came out. Angry, vindictive, and ashamed, she slept for a week.
She had died. Well a portion of her.
She sat in a hole, emotionally unable to get a grip.
Her eyes’ normal state was wet, her aura dark and her passion politely muted. The foundation broken, what would resurrection unearth?

A broken heart becomes an open target, but a closed heart broods mistrust.

A shell returned. The pain so deep it destroyed her. Never different to her baby, she darted anxious glances whenever the state was around. Once on the grid, you’re never really off.
How long would she live under the eye of Big Brother?
The trial had an ending date, or did it?


Calmly she talks and functions like a normal person.
But a leg got amputated, and we all pray that the old her returns. This wound, she felt, ran deeper than anything she’s ever experienced.
And there is no ask for actions already taken; no pill to unlearn what is already experienced. So we just pray that the corners of her life get bigger. That she get out of her box and that she remembers the days before the sum of the 9 created on the 7th cycle of 30.


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