All the lies you have been feeding me are unsettling in my stomach. You are not who you say you are. You are not even half of that. You speak in untruths. You make me doubt myself. We are not one like the oneness you speak of so oftenly. We are not of the same fire. We were not forged in the same flame. You seek to deceive cause your never satisfied. I said I would do anything for you, but still no loyalty. I only asked this one thing of you, but you could not. Now all we had is over we will never speak no more. So I'll have a drink then two then three then I'm bound for the floor. Which is where I would rather sleep. You to me will always be nothing but a whore. So take your things, and take mine. I will be able to get a chance to find my piece of mind. After I fill my lungs with smoke I start to unwind. Today's the day we end this charade. I am not blind.
About the Creator
john noakes
I like to be vocal at times it helps
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The Harvest
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjorabout 8 hours ago in Fiction
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