literature

Masochistic Demise

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DreamAmongStars's avatar
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Literature Text

Glass…
shattered on the kitchen tile.
I rush over to help my mom pick up the broken pieces.

Crumpling down to the ground,
I casually set my knee onto the floor,
then flinch back in surprise.
I help pick up the final pieces,
then turn and go upstairs without a word.

Ah, I knew it, the glass had cut me.
Then why hadn't I felt any pain?
I sit on the floor of my bedroom
staring at the wound and watching it bleed.

The cut…it should sting, right?
Yet I feel absolutely nothing.
It's not exactly a terrible gash, but still…
I should feel something, shouldn't I?

When did I become so numb?
This is more or less what happened last night after a little glass shard cut BOTH of my knees.

My mom accidentally dropped a cake dome. We use that thing, so it sucks now because we've had it as long as I can remember! Our mixer quit on us, too, so I had to finish the cookies I made Sunday night by hand, which wasn't too bad.

But what's really weird is that now that I have a bandaid on it and it's healing, it hurts when I put my knee against my desk (it's quite comfy) so I have to do it with my other knee (which was also scraped up but not nearly as bad) which just isn't as fun.

HTC: Blood
© 2011 - 2024 DreamAmongStars
Comments25
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crazybean13's avatar
I hope you feel better, awesome poem though!