He rubs me raw
Not with his hands
No, not anymore
Not as often
But with his words
From the outside, in
The tears coat my eyes
Its the middle of class
Yet my thoughts aren't on Chekhov
But on how close the day is to done
Which terrifies me more than
It probably should
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
