It trailed from her lips as a grey cloud,
Masking the sobs of her heart.
In her fingers she held a Marlboro Black 100,
It's tip red and aflame.
She brought it up to her lips and inhaled deeply,
Enjoying the burn in her blackened lungs.
She wasn't allowed to cut anymore.
They had taken away her blades.
So she started smoking and drinking,
Even sleeping with strange women.
And she loved it.
It burned something deep inside and she reveled in the feeling.
She wanted to blacken everything.
Her heart, her soul, her lungs, her mind, her liver....
She wanted it all to turn black.
And so she laid in her room, the cigarette in between scarred, numb fingers.
Her parents tromped down the hallway, and she hurried to put it out.
Guilt rose in her chest,
But she just closed her eyes.
Everything they had said was true.
She was a monster, a horrible person.
And she loved it,
Almost as much as she loved the grey smoke that left her lips as she let out a little sigh.
She was killing herself, one way or another.
YOU ARE READING
Stitches
PoetryThey held her mouth shut. They whispered in her ear and bled into her heart. But she never knew where to start. These feelings that she just wants to be done, They sit in the back of her mind like a loaded gun. So she squeezes the trigger a litt...
