The blood leaving my body didn’t leave silently, I could hear it clearly, every drop, every clot, every cell, taking the life left in me. Standing at the edge of the room the blood stained sheets resembled the first spill at a murder scene, perhaps when the victims trusting eyes met the killer’s sharp steel. Arms wrapped around my body I felt cold as steel, a betrayer of my own insides.

Tonight like most nights this week, I dreamt of angels wielding scalpels and a piercing pain between my legs. I’m always in my dark bedroom, legs spread, slightly conscious, I have the decision to say “No” at the top of my lips but they can’t find expression, tonight I tried screaming but woke up waving my hands at an empty room. The bleeding had come back, I bled for only a day, the doctor assured me I was healthy and explained what I needed to understand to go on living normally; I didn’t take a life, I simply made a choice. He spoke of how 4 weeks was not a baby but cells and tissues. I wish the large hole on my inside listened.

Some days I swear I can feel it, my empty womb missing an occupant. I finally realized that there can be no healing, only torment covered by torment of guilt. My ex-boyfriend saying we were drunk then a long sigh

“We would do the right thing”


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