Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2014
Sometimes I feel a breeze and I think you’re watching me.

My clothes hang on my body they way you used to take me in.

This blade feels cool the way your bedroom floor felt on my skin.

The blood runs down my legs the way your fingers used to.
Dana Mulder
Written by
Dana Mulder
641
   ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems