Bloody knuckles and broken teeth.
She had eyes equivalent to her intentions—deceitful and unwavering.
If there was ever time to come clean it was now, but her jagged teeth caged in her tongue preventing any chance of truth standing up to power.
She hid the lies in the palm of her hands.
Her fingers curled around the neck of vulnerability.
Her fingertips grazed the cheek of execution.
In the breast of her thumb was an inscription:
"Closed mouths don't get fed."
YOU ARE READING
Eclectic Dreams
Poetrythey told me I would never write again. they told me that whoever would read these words would steal them and run off like a thief in the night. thankfully, i chose to ignore my fears, sit down, and prove them wrong.
