Death Itself

Death Itself
16-1-13

You, the colour of what should have come but didn't,
Brought fear and hope and joy.
My eyes became blotchy and you after a family meeting
Where he sat meekly like a small child
Fearing his mother’s wrath.
You tingled my nose,
Warming the snot that snuck through my defences.
Your colour is what should have come,
And it was the warning of the pain that not having you would cause.

Then you became the colour of what shouldn’t have come but did,
What should never have been there.
Another warning to stop, look, pay attention;
Something is wrong.
And once again you coloured in my eyes and nose
Like a little child with a crayon;
Not caring about lines or boundaries.

You came out of me through a tube,
Because by then it was too late.
And as I lay unconscious you poured forth
Until there was nothing left inside my womb;
The colour of death.

The colour of attempted death
Mourning over what should have been,
Mingling with a trickle of water
To become lighter
Yet still as potent;
Had I only tried one more time
You would have been death itself;
For me this time.