It was suspicious.
He didn't come home last night.
Where did he go.
I thought the worse.
Death!
Kidnapped!
Accident!
Cheater!
I won't believe the last one.
I can't.
It's scares me to think he would.
I call.
The phone rings and rings and rings.
Nothing.
What do I do.
I call people.
Who could know.
I wonder.
If they do.
Nothing.
I go to call him.
And there by the front door
He stood.
A little bit wobbly.
But his clothes.
They are all messed up.
As if in a hurry to get out of something.
I jump to meet him.
Face to face.
All I could smell is alcohol from his breath.
"What? where? when?"
S.R.Worth
YOU ARE READING
Seeing colour in the shade
PoezjaI'm the type of person to hold back when it comes to the people around me. My mind works different I see colour in the shade, some see black and white with a little gray, sometimes. I can see it all. So this is my poems I write every now and then.
