Swift flew the season
wind chill commits treason
smooth talks and movie dates
holding hands, tempting fate.
You leave clothes in my bedroom
poke through the sunroof for headroom
say "there's really no one like you."
I wonder how many people you lied to?
Our memories steer clear of any vibrant color
ordinary people doing awful things to each other
at the heights of our "love" that fizzled fast
the only place you belong is the past.
Venom coats the tip of your tongue
piercing veins of the heart you won
rough patches still left in tatters
just like before, here, and after.
Consciences bereft of any apology
a result of furious, reckless psychology.
About the Creator
DEUXQANE
93% of communication is non-verbal. Here's the other 7%.
I'm a licensed therapist. I love my kettlebell, steel mace, and rower. I've a soft spot for sci-fi, rollerblading, herbalism, poetry, drag race, EDM, and spending time in nature.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Masterful proofreading
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Frenetic pace! Cool work Deuxqane! 👏👏