Papers
Papers, papers that I never
thought I would have to sign.
Is that blood or ink drops
dripping on the dotted line?
Hair matted and stuck like
glue to a dirty head—
as I lay motionless, days
on end in my coffin like bed.
I never knew it was possible
to sob so hard you couldn't
catch your breath—
But now I know, living in this
agony— I would welcome death.
They say only Time will heal
all wounds, so I intently wait
for that elusive moment to come
that will soothingly seal my fate.
© 2012 Connie Marcum Wong
*This poem is dedicated to the
50% of you whose marriages didn't
succeed. I am happy to say I am
on the positive side this time.
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