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the last of what you'll take off me
December 8, 2014
You're cold icy hands champ down on my soul.
You're jagged fingertips group my swollen heart.
You're eyes piece me, to the center of my broken self.
And you stare.
And with that stare comes all the words you'll never say.
With the stare comes the burning, the lost helpless feeling.
But with strength I did not know I had, I break contact.
My veins surge with red life again.
My broken heart seems to mend.
Painfully.
But it mends.
I'm giving this away.
I hold it toward you.
That's the last of what I'll let you take off me.
© Asia B., Hudson, MA
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