darkness.
it's grip was tight around her body
as she sat upright in her bed,
whispering to herself
words of encouragement while
cold tears ran down her flushed cheeks.
restless.
it's hold on her soul was binding
as she pulled quickly and harshly
on the fibers of her thick hair,
trying to use the pain as a
distract from her thoughts.
discreteness.
it's grasp encased her mind
as she had waited until he had
fallen asleep to fall apart herself,
reassuring herself that he would not
know of this attack if he could not
see or hear it.
guiltiness.
it's squeeze crushed her heart
as she confirmed within herself not
to wake him because of this, even though
that's what he would have wanted.
— her happiness was close, yet still so far away. she was dying—dying to tell him her reasons for having nothing but one thing that could make her feel happy and dying to tell him of that one thing—but she neither wouldn't, nor couldn't. so she simply muted the call, battled with the attack, and cried herself into the protection of sleep. (l.r.)
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STILL ILL ☹ MISCELLANEOUS
Poetry" does the body rule the mind, or does the mind rule the body? i don't know. " - the smiths [{ poems & thoughts }] [{ story-related drabbles }] [{ original works }] COPYRIGHT © - @xlindselliex - 2020 All Rights Reserved
