What Hurts the Most

December 2, 2011
By PookieBooski PLATINUM, Springfield, Illinois
PookieBooski PLATINUM, Springfield, Illinois
32 articles 0 photos 6 comments

Favorite Quote:
When the itch of literature comes over a man, the only cure is the scratch of pen over paper.


It's dark. The only thing I can see is my knees that are drawn up to my chest. Wet tears streak down my face. A prmise of forever echos in my ears. The taste of salty tears and a weet kiss fill my mouth. My body is drenched in a cold, sticky sweat. My long, black hair is damped down to my forehead, cheecks, and neck. I smell like worn-off deodarant, Old Spice cologne, and wilted daisies. The smell is nauseating. My hands, now clasped around my thighs, are trembling of anxiety. Hot, raw pain shoots up my spine and spreads through my shoulders. I try to scream, but only a weird cough escapes my sore throat. The worst pain, though, is the emptiness inside my heart. The heart-shattering pain I feel as his name pereats in my head; Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben...



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