Mental

"hi", my voice penetrated the deep silence, "i'm tom".

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He's a brown haired, shaggy schoolboy that doesn't believe in shit. He wears his pants low and scoffs at the paperboys ride by. It's a rough winter in Edinburgh and this year his family seems to be stuck in their own eternal freeze. The guilt of his fathers death chilled his mother's veins and his sister sat awake all night frightened that they might lose their mother. It seems like their own feelings have frozen over a lake and trapped Tom at the bottom. When everything felt like it was going to shit, a hand broke through the metaphorical ice and pulled Tom out from the trap.

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"...and there's a void, there's a painful dagger being pushed through cracking my ribs and tearing my lungs out. I couldn't feel anything anymore, the dagger, the broken bones, and then you came in and screwed it all up. You've brought the fear back", my adamant tone cracked the girls porcelain face.

"And you claim you can't write, Thomas?", she had an effulgent smile.

"I know, I'm such a poet", fastidiously I placed my open palm on her soft face.