She calls me,
upon her deathbed,
she's bruised,
broken,
and sore.

Dear child,
I love you,
I know I hurt you,
but know this one thing,
I love you,
my child.

She calls for my hand,
I lay it on her wilting,
fragile,
and broken hand.

She struggles to bring a hand,
over to my cheek,
and whispers,





















"I honestly should have swallowed..."