familiar hurt.
our demons are our downfall.
familiar demon at my door,
you torment me, yet ask for more
and I know what you came here for.
you crave the pain that I adore.
a creaking hinge- I let you in.
the roaring flames begin to swim
around my head, and I, again,
am lost and start to play with them.
blisters form; begin to burst
but we both know you've hurt me worse
the kind of pain that's like a curse
breathe in the smoke, and bleed remorse.
your gentle touch against my skin,
enough to cause the flames to thin
enough to break me down within.
so slide the rope beneath my chin.
About the Creator
Kathleen Toomey
I love to write and connect with other writers. <3
Keep reading
More stories from Kathleen Toomey and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.