Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
  Feb 2015 Olivia
Dean Eastmond
My fingertips bruise
Whenever I touch him,
Ribcages tighten and confine
Me to what I am to be;
Pavement cracked and crippled
Under the weight of word.
Lungs expand to accommodate him,
But he just complains about
The noise of my heartbeat.
I am sanctioned under a law of silence,
Forbidden by growth and loss,
Entrusted in splinters and expected
To heal
Olivia Sep 2014
and as he cups
his slender fingers
around my small wrist
and leans in
for the slightest kiss
i can't help but pull away.
i am afraid of
the marks
he may leave
on my paper-thin skin;
"perpetual sin"
echoes faintly
inside the delicate
areas of my mind
that not even i
dare to visit
and i can smell
the wind
salted with the crisp
fragrance of light rain
and then i'm
running away
stringing the pieces
of my broken heart
behind me
like a deflated balloon.
**- o.a

— The End —