a question
always seems
to be on your mind.
will he look at you
the way you’ve always wanted,
hold you the way you’ve always dreamt of?
or will it be someone else;
a stranger in the blue mist,
pale fingers stretching out for you,
gripping you tightly, too tight;
the way
you’ve always feared
to be held?
bruises on skin like rainbows after rain
colors dancing and mixing
into hues no one should bare.
milky words filling you,
whispers of false love,
love beaten out of your lips
from the only one that dares to touch you.
or will there be no one else;
no stranger hidden in the mist,
no warmth from his hands on yours,
an empty feeling in your belly
where love is supposed to be?
where the violent butterflies should live,
never leaving you at peace?
all that is left is a shell
of the person you used to be,
your brittle bones crushed
and used as food
for someone else’s nourishment.