Strawberry Fields
A blade, a bath, a bounty,
Cuts my mother should never get to see.
X marks the spot upon fertile skin
And strawberry fields grow from within.
Red, like rain, down my arms
And the pain like flowers that I finds in my scars.
It’s a shame, really,
I nearly escaped my strawberry fields
The thorns in my throat,
The vines that bind the soul.
But I fell, I was bound to,
And the ground falls through.
I was nearly off my pills,
Five inches from the kill,
I had nearly found peace
But then I fell to pieces.
The ground swallows my head
And all I see is white and red.
Poetry by Luke Cable 