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Viseract May 2016
A dark and stormy day
Stone-walled house and creaky floorboards
Rain tapping all the windows, streaking them,
As the windows shudder in their housings

A high, keening wind
Clap of thunder and a drawer being opened
The cutlery inside rattling
As the drawer comes to rest

A roving and admiring eye
So wet, reflecting the dull silver sheen
Sizing up the pain within
And the size of the blade to release it

A lightning bolt outside the window
Causes him to look up, through the pelting rain
At his own reflection, to the dark hair
And those sad, sad eyes

He tilts his head a little, wondering
Just how good a scar would look
To beautify what is the exact opposite
And decides, for the time being, against it

The front door bangs open,
Footsteps in the hall
Resisting that encompassing impulse,
He drops the blade, the butcher knife, back in
The drawer

"You need any help, Mother?"
A story, not about me (for once, you self-centred so-and-so) but just a story. Let me know what you think of it. Please, any and all criticism is welcome
Valora Brave Aug 2015
I unpacked your boxes too quickly.
I exposed the whiteness of your thighs
freckled by the reddish-brown hairs
I uncovered the wrinkles in your blue iris
the lies and tears behind your front teeth
evenly crooked

I wanted your words to flutter from your mind
but they dropped from your throat to the floor
I wanted your laughter in your core to be kind
but it came from a shallow, envious drawer

I pulled strands and veins out of boxes
Found bundles and tangles
that I assumed should be unraveled
but when I pulled and twisted one straight,
you left in your car with a crunch in the gravel
Drove straight into the arms of
Malbec wine
at low rise tables with one chair,
an excerpt from a novel bent at the spine
and the sweater you never let me wear

I drank from the pint glass you brought home for me
and it wasn't a statement.
I wore no mask.
I simply sipped.
It's only meaning to transport water to my lips
Calmly, coating my belly
So slowly I'd wait
Imagining water burning like *****
Barreling down my throat
like an interstate

I wanted it back
the feeling of feeling
the fear that walks with revealing
the love, the artist, and the lunatic
all cooked together and left to steep

I pulled out my own strands
the ones anchored deep.
I worked endlessly to straighten
You wrapped yourself in my veins
to tightly
You were trapped in the bundle
so you ran, then came a stumble
forgetting that I was anchored too
and so you pulled me right down with you.

And I left you there
with your tearful stare
I bunched up these strands
and laid out my demands
I carried them off, the tangled mess
You once announced was yours to hold
but you overestimated yourself
and watched me become cold
A block of ice, you could never melt
you were not all, you were not my wealth
you were only the weight I felt.
Eleanor Rigby Nov 2014
I am sharp and dreaded
Blood is dripping from me
Not my blood, no
Someone else's blood
They use me for stabbing.

I am sharp and hidden
Under her pillow
Like a gun
Constantly firing
Keeping her from sleeping.

I am sharp and I like it
Out of her reach
Safely kept in your kitchen drawer
Waiting for you to come home
To slice her open again
I am yours and I am vindictive.

I am sharp and I am your words.

Katie Nicole May 2014
your old socks haunt me
as they linger in my drawer

Touching all my innocent matched pairs.

you had slipped them to me
one frosty night when the cold nipped at my toes

An act of a gentleman.

but now what am i to do?
you're gone, but your socks remain

Each opening of my drawer kindles the coldness I feel.

you and your socks betrayed me
none of you comfort me anymore

*But at least the socks decided to stay.

— The End —