dead ends
dead ends
walls of cement-quarantined and prisoner.
birds chirp, distant laughs i hear,
sunshine and coffee and pretty things.
but here i am with cloth tied to my face and water pouring endlessly:
guilt wraps a rough hand around my throat
suffocate
suffocate
suffocate.
and yet i breathe. oh the irony
How else do i make things right?! Is there no way?
crushing is the dawning that they- hands that once held you- can unlove you.
So can you.
~
9.9.16
YOU ARE READING
Tasting Hearts
PoesiaPoetic gibberish from a teenage logophile where a girl writes what her fingers tell her to on the skeleton of rhyme, rhythm and reason.
