Skip to main content

28 pills

28 pills to

dull my pain.

every single

one reminds 

me of you 


it's always the same

when I take them

it's like the

soft breath 

of leaves on

the sidewalk are

whispering 

while we walk

together again; 


I remember

when you 

told me they

were your vice;

I don't

know why 

I'm still in yours


Every time 

I think about 

your lips on

a stranger's

neck I wish

I had never

swallowed 

those pills 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster

Fright

I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.



my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries




May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…