Underground

In this moment,

as the glass stands pinned to my skin,

and the blood pours from the faucets

that are my pores,

my life flashes before my eyes,

like silent film.

To the life of a women,

who was once a girl,

who was robbed of her innocence

before her life had hardly begun.

To the hot summer days,

when my lover and I laid in the fields,

and stared at the sun.

To the moment when she stood

pale as ghost,

in her blackest dress,

and watched her lifeless father

go underground.

Just like she would

go underground,

very soon.

Author's Note

I don't know what this is.

I always have trouble naming my pieces and never know what to write. Any tips?