H o r r o r stories
Are your eyes (clear, drained of color as you
Cry)
Roaming the words on my
Bone marrow.
Because they say
'You should have been here'
And
'**** you for leaving without goodbye'
And you're on the floor,
Laying in my weakness.
I bleed, you watch, I clean up,
You go.
Later, you are laughing.
The pain is gone from your eyes,
From your palms.
You have become the anger in my throat as I scream
'***** you!'
And you catch me by
My wrist
Before I slap
That pretty little face.
You are crying too,
But you pull me in as I thrash,
And tell me you're never leaving again.
But I wake up, wander to the room we
Were going to meet in.
Are you there?
Of. Course. Not.
One more story in my bone marrow book.

r.c.