Jun 25, 2024
Lust is like a thorn that I can't pull out from under my skin.
I want to look through his window and break the glass.
His soul to take in the palm of my hand.
Eyes as red as a vampire's blood.
His blood. His bed. His blue eyes like a dream of the sea.
I put my hand on the sleeve of his coat.
He disappears, disintegrates.
Just a whisper by the side of the road.
Just a loud voice in the walls of a room.
I want to stare into his skull and read his every thought.
I want to wrap the dead in velvet and dissolve my memories with acid.
Sluicing down the drain are hundreds of teardrops that glitter like the violet canvas of a twilit sky.
Karma slashes like a scythe.
Time never heals the punctures in a heart.
by Darla Cathilde Cutherford