Ill.

My little sister,
Aged 4,
named Charlie,
I need i say any more,
When she was 3,
She was diagnosed,
with cancer,
In her lungs,
Mum is dead,
Dad ran away,
I've got nothing more to say,
I can cope,
I've got Nellie,
My big brov,
Here too,
But he smokes,
No wonder,
Charlie is ill,
I hope that one day,
I'll be able to say,
Hi charlie,
How are you,
With out her face crumpling,
Without tears rolling down her cheeks,
Without my head slamming it's self against my skull,
But Charlie will die,
She's already dead,
Inside me,
I can't find the charlie that used to laugh and play,
With all the other toddelers,
I can't see the charlie that used to breathe normally,
And screech with laughter,
I can't find our charlie.