April 18, 2013
The possession in his eyes
The way his mouth curves at the thought
His hair wild with exhaustion
The longing he has for it

For the way he stares at me
Slowly edging his feet in my direction
The red on his hands tells me this isn’t his first,
That I’m just his next target

Where to go and what to do
Who to call, what to say
I’m all alone

His mouth waters as he gets closer
He takes one last look at me
As I take my last look at the world
I notice something about his hand
Does he have the same ring on as my mother once wore?

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