Cutting
Blood oozes out; she smiles. Her
demon depression retreats. She
knows just how to cut; long and
vertical, and not too deep. Slice
just enough to make the blood flow.
She hides her bloodletting behind
long sleeves as she hides from
the darkness inside with a knife.
She sharpens the knife so it won't
bruise or tear. She stops the bleeding
with a rag. She puts the bloody rag in
a plastic bag and throws it in a dumpster
on the way to school.
She tells herself she is worthless. She's
done it so many times she's come to
believe it. The cutting stops the pain, but
too soon it returns.
She struggles each day through school
and can't wait to get home for another
blood letting.
demon depression retreats. She
knows just how to cut; long and
vertical, and not too deep. Slice
just enough to make the blood flow.
She hides her bloodletting behind
long sleeves as she hides from
the darkness inside with a knife.
She sharpens the knife so it won't
bruise or tear. She stops the bleeding
with a rag. She puts the bloody rag in
a plastic bag and throws it in a dumpster
on the way to school.
She tells herself she is worthless. She's
done it so many times she's come to
believe it. The cutting stops the pain, but
too soon it returns.
She struggles each day through school
and can't wait to get home for another
blood letting.
Run Away
My old man was mean as hell...
He wanted to run my life.
At sixteen I ran away to fly
like a wild bird. I hit the streets
and soon discovered it was
an ugly place. There were no
pleasant melodies. The only
birds were vultures waiting
to pounce.
I fell into an ugly world. It was
called “A bed for a bang.”
Occasionally one of the vultures
would share a dobby and for
several hours my tears would be
gone. I hated being mauled
drooled upon and screwed just
for a place to sleep.
I stayed with Brad for three weeks;
things were looking up. Then came
the time I couldn't perform and he
threw me out. I don't know what I'll
do when winter comes. I don't have
a coat I guess I'll have to find a
pimp. At least I’ll get paid for what
I’m doing...
He wanted to run my life.
At sixteen I ran away to fly
like a wild bird. I hit the streets
and soon discovered it was
an ugly place. There were no
pleasant melodies. The only
birds were vultures waiting
to pounce.
I fell into an ugly world. It was
called “A bed for a bang.”
Occasionally one of the vultures
would share a dobby and for
several hours my tears would be
gone. I hated being mauled
drooled upon and screwed just
for a place to sleep.
I stayed with Brad for three weeks;
things were looking up. Then came
the time I couldn't perform and he
threw me out. I don't know what I'll
do when winter comes. I don't have
a coat I guess I'll have to find a
pimp. At least I’ll get paid for what
I’m doing...
© Mike Berger 2011
A member of the Academy of American Poets, Mike Berger, Ph.D. is the author of two books of short stories. Three of his humor pieces have won awards. His work has appeared or will appear in sixty-five journals, including AIM, Still Crazy, First Edition, Stray Branch, Mid West Quarterly, Evergreen and Westward Quarterly. His work has appeared internationally in Australia, Portugal, Mozambique, England, Canada, and India. He has been writing poetry for two years, and is a winner of several poetry contests. He has published three chapbooks, Raw, and Lighten Up by CC&D Press, and Smart Assed World by Writing Raw. A fourth chap is due out.
I found run away sad. I'll never undestand why women put themselves through that. You did a good job portraying the female.
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