Years Too Late

468
  0%
  0

Tags

She walked the “pretty” patterns home,underneath a long sleeved shirt,he told her she was pretty, now,as if she wasn’t pristine when he found her. She told herself to wear longer skirts,in case he wanted to get creative,she also to...

She walked the “pretty” patterns home,
underneath a long sleeved shirt,
he told her she was pretty, now,
as if she wasn’t pristine when he found her.

She told herself to wear longer skirts,
in case he wanted to get creative,
she also told herself to run,
then remembered she’d forgotten how.

She couldn’t remember if she loved him, still,
he’d always remind her that he always would,
the thought of always was fire to her throat,
but she returned it, for a moment of mercy.

It never felt quite like a kiss,
not that she could recall.
It felt like a cocktail of choking shame,
and a bitter brand of bad boy brandy.

She can’t see me, alone at her window,
my hand meets glass as his meets her,
and I cannot hear myself screaming, years too late.
I cannot save myself from him, years too late.

Global Scriggler.DomainModel.Publication.Visibility
There's more where that came from!