Chloe Confessional

Updating the previous entry on this, into poetry

Chloe Confessional

I remember the feeling of hunger.
not the kind where a sandwich
or light snack fill the ache,
but the kind that claws at your stomach
that makes it almost impossible
to turn in a quiz.

The kind that makes your hair fall out,
bruises littering the knobby knees.
the kind that separates you
from the bubble of society.

The ham was rationed daily.
three slices allotted for me,
one slice given to Chloe.

Quivering and small,
she would lie on my chest at night,
haughty purrs rumbling
breath sticky with demise.

Oh, how I begged.

Then Mother gave her the boot,
back at home with kicked teeth.

All for naught,
she still died.