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May 21, 2007

From The Comments: kipp

Her dreams, nightmares really, had become something more, something she carried with her, throughout the day.

At night, when she was alone, the dread became her master. She drank, popped pills, anything to help her sleep, anything. Maybe she wanted a miscarriage, maybe she blamed her baby, but she always fell asleep hating herself. And, when her dreams woke her, she was left in a puddle of sweat, her knees pulled up like her feet are in stirrups, and with the image of her doctor placing her newborn baby girl in her arms, but its not breathing… it never does.

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Comments

Hey, thanks!

Posted by: kipp at May 22, 2007 3:16 PM · Permalink