Three-hundred Sixty Five

One year;
365 days;
525,949 minutes
spent calming the storm
raging inside my heart
and soul
picturing
your tiny hands
and feet.
Praying to a God
I don't believe in
every day for it to end.

Picturing day after day
your slow and silent demise.
Still feeling the
physical pain wracking
my body
screaming for it to stop.
A silent funeral.

365 days
never telling a soul
what it's like to have
such innocence ripped from your body
and not even knowing.
where did it begin?
When will it end?
Oh god, please,
I just want to die.

With each wave of bone crushing contractions
I lose a piece of myself.
"Maybe now you will lose weight"
A friend
"Slut"
My family.
"Why didn't you use protection?"
Doctors.
"It's your fault"
Myself.

Every hour forced to view
the raging war in my body.
The brutal death.
The vicious truth,
this may kill me.
And if I live,
I will continue to die inside
just a shell
breathing
crying
moving
dying.
Everything is numb.

One year
I'm haunted.
365 days
vivid memories.
525,949 minutes
still silent.