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bekka walker Apr 2014
My sad and sweet name twisted around his tongue with drunken fantasy.
Merely an expression of something else, made in his head.
Manifesting before him.
Manifesting into him.
Manifesting for him.
As he grabs a fistful of my hair and pins me to the ground.
Manifesting.
And then I can't breathe.
Is it the body unconsciously laying on top of my tiny corpse?
Corpse.
I was dead.
bekka walker Apr 2014
You remind me of my cold bitter coffee.
Better yet, my cold bitter coffee reminds me of you.
Once upon a time it was warm.
Like you.
Now, It makes my stomach sick when I sip on the stale sweet leftovers.
And if you didn't catch the pattern, like you.
Still I find myself mindlessly reaching this past hour while sitting in an ambiance ridden coffee shop, listening to other saps who've been suckered into lust, beating out their soft sorrows with melodies in the background.
I bring my cup to my lips, tilt it back, expecting to be infused with a sense of belonging that's no longer there.
I'm searching for you in my coffee cup, but all that's left is ***** looking walls and lipstick stains.

— The End —