His voice was all she heard
Playing like a broken record
In her head.
The scent of his skin was all
She smelt on the other side
Of the bed.
His laugh was painted on the
Walls of the kitchen and it
Was blood red.
The color of roses and the
Color of dying and the color
Of words unsaid.
He was in the whole home
And she couldn’t escape
His tred.
So she stayed in her room
And tried to remember it
Was she who fled.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:58 AM UTC
His voice was all she heard
Playing like a broken record
In her head.
The scent of his skin was all
She smelt on the other side
Of the bed.
His laugh was painted on the
Walls of the kitchen and it
Was blood red.
The color of roses and the
Color of dying and the color
Of words unsaid.
He was in the whole home
And she couldn’t escape
His tred.
So she stayed in her room
And tried to remember it
Was she who fled.
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