[41] – Harsh
Blue quilted feathered pillows
F
l
e
w
A c r o s s
The room.
Anger erupted
From hoarse throats
Tired eyes
Aching minds.
One argued
For her to care less
And let him care more.
The other argued
For him to care less
And let her care more.
From cigarettes to bruises
Stories to bring them
Farther away
From being strangers.
Neither cared that it was
Already long past midnight.
The boy had enough
Of the stinging words
That were escaping from her mouth
So he lit a cigarette
And left her palace
Storming out
Like the black clouds he hated
But resembled.
The girl spoke harsh words
But
The boy showed harsh actions.
YOU ARE READING
Pluviophile
PoetryIt was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51
