DEATH Poem: Hidden Abortion 2025, by Paul Rousseau

Missing someone you love is hard, but never being able
to see them again is harder.
Anonymous

She died with a fever in her bones and a death in her womb. Tomorrow, the light will be dark and the hours long, and her husband will linger in a hollow of loss.

He will have pixeled memories, memories of what was and what will never be again, so there will be no solace, only absence. The pain will be like a blade through his heart, with shards of regret and sorrow and emptiness.

But tonight he will slumber in a benzo twilight and implore the Deities that he never awake.

Author: poetryfest

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