she spits out hurt like fire
a dragon in her own flesh
what little can he do
but pull out a cigarette

he'd rather burn his lungs instead
to refrain from saying things simply
misread


© A. Leigh

I hate the word simple.
Everything is actually really
complex.

© A. Leigh

I  can't  promise  you  it  wasn't the
way the night went cold or  
how their breaths began to swallow
                 syllables  rolling  off   freezing
tongues.  I  can't  promise  you  it wasn't
the   weariness   in   fractured  smiles  or
the slight movement of his  hand  across
innocent  skin, or  the way he whispered
sweet nothings crawling down the back of
her spine. But I can promise you this: the
cerulean gleam of  the  incandescent sky
hid the moon and stars she longed to see,
while the cold rocks cutting into her back 
shattered what little love of the world
she had left inside her weary soul.


© A. Leigh