sometimes i wonder…
what i was thinking…
you are clearly out of reach…
and, i am obviously out of touch…
with the reality of this situation…
the fact that i allowed you…
to get to me…
to get inside of me…
penetrating, my most vital of organs…
bypassing all of my armor…
because, i wanted you…
i beckoned you…
“comest thou hither”…
defenses worn thin…
like eggshell or onion skin…
cracked wide open…
contents frying…
up in a pan…
yellow, bubbly goo…
those bits and bites…
salty and peppery…
seasoned, just for you…
lie upon a plate…
at your seat…
at my special, celebratory table…
seemingly, untouched…
left far behind, wasted…
cold, hard, and grey now…
yucky, nasty scraps…
fit only to be had…
by a hungry dog…
empty shells…
dirty pan…
that is all that remains…
About the Creator
kristen weigand
old enough to know better and young enough to do it again...vintage camera user and collector, photographer, poet, beatnik, traveler, writer, blogger, explorer, adventurer, beachcomber, always ready for a road trip and a travel companion.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.