I remember when they…
When their voices turned to
Arms reaching out,
Hands grasping for,
Fingers clawing,
Catching,
Tearing me apart.
Their voices sweet,
Curling into sweet smoke,
Drifting, beckoning –
Forming hands grasping for…
Index finger curling,
Beckoning,
Tearing me apart.
So I tore away,
Tore them all up.
I forced their voices into the dark –
Forced their arms to give break.
No more hands grasping for…
And no more hands to hold.
No more fingers clawing,
Catching,
Tearing,
Curling,
Beckoning,
Tearing me apart.
No more fingers intertwining with mine –
Fingers against blushed cheeks,
Burning cheeks,
Plump with a smile,
Smiling complete joy.
Was that ever real?
Was it forced?
I don’t know what that even is
No more.
That’s not real,
Not a reality.
But it’s okay.
I don’t want,
Don’t even want,
Don’t need that
No more.
The Beginning in the End (or the Means to an End)
- Details
- Written by: Harley Liddell
- Category: Poetry
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