Stuck

Photographer - Tobi Brun

Stuck

If I am impaled on the side,
Will the crows come and pluck out my eyes?
I am frozen and stuck in place,
Bites were taken out of my unmoving face.
My blood boils,
The thick putrid liquid in my chest,
It roils.
People are passing,
My eyes follow them, unblinking.
Time is flashing,
I keep sinking.

How long must I remain this way?
Will the passers-by stop?
They will not stay.
Gawking maybe, asking a question or two,
They lose interest quickly,
It is not enough that it is just you.

“Where is the tribe?”
“They are about.”
“Have you even tried?”
“A lot,” I try to shout.
They only smile in pity, and glee maybe?
Floating away, content, lazy.

Watching the blood pool beside my pole,
It freezes quickly, out of control.
Still looking on, my unmoving face,
Tight, stiff, and stuck in bitter space.

I look to my left, there is another.
Her eyes are astray.
With speaking I do not bother,
she cannot hear me anyway.
The blood has dried.
Given up, she has died.

My eyes begin to bulge,
In panic, I try to shift.
Sorrow too long indulged,
Where is the will needed to persist?
Remove the spike long sat in my chest,
Cannot get upright,
Only pain left to ingest.
Tired, more tired every day,
Waiting to be discovered and taken away.

Strikes like a storm,
The crooked lines of my shoulders,
When fresh dripping blood is keeping you warm.
The small stones feel like bullets,
A raindrop like hail,
A pinch like a punch,
On life's path impaled.

Iram Nisa Hussain is of British-Pakistani descent. Hussain is a passionate newcomer, who has always indulged in poetry. Born and raised in the Northwest of England, Hussain has always used words to capture the essence of life's moments.