when the price becomes too high
the knife edge seems sharper
the blade cuts deeper, each wound
bleeds brighter, longer
the noose tightens, suffocates
the world turns a nauseous
shade of blue, each breath stabs
even as it grasps
the lifeline dangles just out of reach,
held aloft by your raw and bitter
laughter, your foot on my throat
stamps and
blackness takes hold,
your apologies with your tears
fall like blood drops
to a sanitised floor
I watch through swollen eyes
as you are led away
between two policewomen
with well-practised ennui
a nurse fiddles with a drip
pats my hand in sympathy
tells me you will cause
no more trouble
but I know better
you will chase me down
the prize is not in the having
but in never letting go.
© Niamh 20/01/2015
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