The poem I didn't want to post.

They saw it there
Spilling
The way their juicebox sometimes would
When the straw poked through
The plastic
No
No
No.
My mothers blood is not
Cheap like juice
It is bitter and stings
As it makes its descent
Too early
Too early
Too early
Your blade does not get
Sharper
With every slice against the skin
Of those who dont deserve it.
The spear contacts one
But a million hearts
Whimper too.