Sinking

Cracked.
Broken.
Split Open.

I look to my hand,
frozen, hard as stone.
Veins crawling every which way
remembering
the hilt of the dagger
the dagger
the flew up into the air
twirling high
wandering
until it found your heart
and stabbed.

I wish
that dagger
had been pointed
the other way.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback