“I do not feel gentle butterflies in my stomach, I feel hurricanes erupting, and threatening to destroy the pillars holding up the empty home in my ribs at the bare sight of him. He runs his fingers on my skin; and I can feel him burning through my veins like poison injected directly into my bloodstream; and I can taste every time his ribs have been torn apart and he had to piece them back together with cigarette smoke and lips that won’t remember his name by the next day. At 4:00 Am, when everyone is asleep, my fingers long for his, shivers rush down my spine like waterfalls, and my bones are about to recreate the Colosseum, and bring life back into the graveyard of souls I carry around in my chest. He made a slow disaster out of me.”
Posted on: Fri, 12 Dec 2014 03:37:55 +0000
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