Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
And then I cried

Raised voices from the living room
The sound of glass breaking

I hid my face in the blankets
The tears soaked the pale green fabric
Into a grey-green expanse of misery

Afterall...
I couldn't let them catch me crying now, could I?
Maybe the world is round

But it has sharp edges

That have wounded me

More than once
The sound of skin against skin
A slippery silence
Interspersed by soft, sweaty thuds
Two bodies wrestle
In the dead night
On her waist
Are swirls of black and brown
Smooth, like a worn polaroid
Beginning and ending in her heart of thorns
A dark room
Greyish lights on a young face
From a thin box
Of addiction
There's a glint in your eyes
That only the mirror
Has the privilege
To behold
I balance a heavy stone
Well polished, evenly cut into a knife
On the tip of my tongue

The blood seeping from the thin cut
Must remain hidden
Under the thin edge of this weapon!
Next page