Eyes that looks right through your soul
A voice that makes your blood run cold
Words that makes you go insane
A body that will numb your pain
Nails that scratch you just like knives
A face that makes you question life
Lips that tastes just like the spring
A mind that never lets you in
Nothing's ever as it seems
Is she real or just a dream
Follow and you'll soon find out
Ignore the calls and angry shouts
Take her hand and fall into
the deep and never-ending blue
About the Creator
Vivi Vanille
Been writing poetry since i was 11 about how sad I am (though I exaggerated a lot) and the teachers were like *Good job girl, A+" Meanwhile I'm writing about different ways to commit suicide. Best teachers rite dere.
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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
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