Her Peace
One small window, she looks to her freedom, held by her love she stays and endures.
As she was pulled from sleep her eyes have darkened. Her skin becoming sickly pale and her body thin.
As the wax burnt her skin, from her back down to her arms she bit her lip, tasting copper as she let the blood run down to her chin.
The world is unkind to the young, to the innocent, to the ones undeserving.
Her prayers never heard as she felt her arms ache from the bruises coloring her skin blue and green.
The walls unchanging, the basement air still and dry with cobwebs decorating the corners.
One small window, she looks to her freedom, held by her love she stays and endures.
An unwilling partner to a life she never wanted.
She closes her eyes once more and breathes in, one day, she won't fail and she'll find home within the earth.
She'll find her peace.
About the Creator
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More stories from Lucero Chavez Rivera and writers in Poets and other communities.
Last Days
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. It was me, but there was something warped, and that was not me. I narrow my eyes and peer into the narrowing eyes of my deformed reflection. I was off, and while I could see it in my reflection, no one else could see it. At least no one acknowledges it. Getting out of bed has become a chore. A chore I hate. After fifteen to twenty minutes of lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wishing I hadn't woken up, I finally shift to the side of the bed, legs dangling down the four foot high drop to the floor.
By Colt Henderson7 days ago in Horror
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