I like the way his arms tighten around my waist,
and when his breathe comes down in soft puffs
around my neck,
I like when his fingers find mine,
or when he cups my face
and brushes his lips so lightly;
against my own,
that I feel like he isn't real
He pokes at my side,
and makes me squeal with laughter so genuine,
I can't believe it's mine
He guides me to a house,
the lights are on
and music is blaring,
I pour an unfamiliar substance;
down my throat,
and then another,
and another
Until I grab onto a hand and giggle,
when they touch me,
But my breathes get shallow
as they connect their too plump lips,
onto my cracked lips;
Because they aren't his,
and they don't cup my face with their calloused hands,
So I push them off and run,
I run into the forest and see shadows around me,
Their hands find my neck,
and I struggle to breath,
Through my eyes I see black dots,
and then I see liquid,
It's just water
But it's not,
and there was no him,
and there was no house,
and no too plump lips,
there is just me,
Sitting up in bed,
rubbing at my eyes,
hearing the screams and shatters of glass downstairs,
and I wonder if it would ever be,
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC