Traffick A Poem by Cody Bennett Can't Find The courage to leap the brink, free-fall beyond the precipice, hurtle toward the abyss, end the pain. Mine. Mom's. Oh, she'd feel the initial sting, cry for a day or two, but it would be short-lived, a quick stab of grief. Finite. A satin-lined coffin and cool, deep hole are preferable to walking a treadmill over a carpet of coals, enduring the blistering, skin-cracking flames of this living hell. Excerpted from Traffick by Ellen Hopkins All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
