His tiny figure lay shattered with broken lungs and tiny toes.
Your bones brittle, your skin pale, your gums red.
Pain eroded at my chest. Your tiny neck laid to rest.
You took your final breath.
A silent death, was all that occurred from these newly spoken words.
I watched over you like a transparent canopy,
You barely even saw me.
You were able to smile at needles and endless agony,
Because all you knew was a life of tragedy.
Pain killers, anti-depressants, I took them all,
But your blue blood barely turned red at all.
I tried asking surgeons to cut away this sadness but all denied.
You couldn't experience scratched knees,
Cut elbows and splintered hearts,
Plastic tubes were your lifeline, connected with shards of glass.
You cried all the time, but as much as I wanted to make it stop,
Unplug this metal machine that was connected to your paper heart.
So I watched you cry countless times.
I rocked you to sleep every night,
Watching every broken tree branch
Stapled to a main artery pump useless oxygen through your fragile body.
I hoped that one day these dead lines
Would suddenly burst into highlands
But it was reality and these cold, cleansed walls
Remind me of insanity,
Where I just couldn't stop scratching,
'Why did this happen to me?'
You wouldn't stop crying, until your final tear.
I heard a long, high-pitched noise and knew the end was nearly here.
To me, the end wasn't as bad as I thought
Because I'd paralysed the thought.
Your tiny fingers that held onto me so tight,
The cancerous cells that put up a fight.
I remember hearing that you inherited your cancer from me,
So I tried emptying myself of this disease,
I was the one to blame, I should have been the one to bleed.
You had barely even breathed in happiness,
Exhaled sadness and coughed up an excuse.
You were this figure which laid there, bruised.
by Chloe Sewell
Woodlands School, Basildon
Competition - The Poetry Trials
Copyright remains with the author.