Note: I am sorry if you think this topic shouldn’t be written about. I think you’re wrong. What I do think though, is that it should be (like everything else) written well, and I have failed to do that here.
I can smell it, but what is it you might ask?
It is the mere fact I am a woman
And maybe one day I’ll multiple.
Children to become me.
Suicide. Beautiful, red scratches.
A pool of tears to drown in.
Food to devour while voices
Remind me I’m fat again.
Finally, it is musty, blood smell.
It is the tiny egg cells who could have been.
If someone (anyone) had wanted them.
It’s a bad smell lingering and it’s tell-tale.