Arts + Scene » Poetry

Chemo Day



The milky savior courses through my veins
as I sit in this burgundy padded chair,
my war zone.
Snipers sweep through,
targeting, eliminating.
No longer chanting, carrying signs for peace,
my non-violent nature on leave.
Armed now, I kill,
even my self.

Hair screams of the injustice
as it falls to the ground.
Insurgents rise,
question the collateral damage.
I quell them.
There will be casualties.
I sit in this burgundy padded chair,
despite the dangers.
My eyes close, and I pray,
here in the midst of the battlefield.

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