2 a.m

Your name flashed on the screen
Lightening up the dark around
Hopeful, against the dead of the night
I answered... Hello?

Now I stand facing the sea
Dirt and muck making the view
As I try to gather what we left behind

Much is lost
The pieces don't fit
So I stitch up my heart
And wait for the insoluble threads
To cease

Paper Cut

Straightening every fold
Making firm every loose end
Holding it by the edge...
Lashed against the white of skin

No stain on parchment,
No real wound to show,
But oh! How you hurt
Its the papers' blow.

Scars remain
Hidden between the lines
A tiny part of skin
Hanging loose

Oh! It's the papers' blow
To heal, new skin must grow

Anguish

Have you ever felt your intestines twitch?
Did you have to stand barefoot of sharp pieces of glass?
Were you subject to ridicule?

Ah! The sweet piercing, nagging, tormenting lurch in the pit of your stomach...

My companion.

Pain!

1095

That was the number of days she'd given it. All those days. They were breathed in the name of one.

Not much has changed since.

Anticipation could kill her.

Put an end to her misery. Please!