I slept on needles
my cheeks cold
hands froze on my dry lips.
It was winter,
the radio was on.
A rock in my throat,
took off the one
that belonged on my finger
Illustration of the spinal cord,
drawn on the canvas of the skin
that faced me .
Pride, she's the reason I couldn't apologize .
Denial, I was not wrong, not this time around.
Kilometers away but still right here by my side.
"Is the child even mine."
You should have seen the look in his eyes.
I could have replied, said
that me and Henry, never spent the night.
That would have been a lie.
I hope he never learns we had it
on his side of the queen size.
YOU ARE READING
honey coated nightmares
Poetryit tasted like butterflies the ice cubes floating in lemonade . I soaked the sun, making room for the moon. the stars twirled to your voice. Your velvety...
