The hollowness of a four syllable word.
A small, calculated, flick of the tongue
Creates a 1,000 pound chain, pressing into my chest.
My eyes grow cloudy as you stare into me,
Tracing your fingers against my plastic chest.
The holes that your eyes burn into my back make a permanent and aching
Wound, palpitating and gushing at the touch.
But still, your nimble fingers reach through me, past me,
Until your elbows grow into my ribcage.
Your elbows are now an uncomfortable stiffness billowing from my chest -
In the form of a delicate band that squeezes my finger until it pops.
The sheets are where my blood and guts hang to dry,
After a drunken spiel of loneliness.
“Loneliness? What about me?” The words fall from your lips in puddles at my feet.
Oh, comfortable complacency, what about you?
The clawing and opening you’d done a million times before
Still flaps slightly open; Your arms are limp now that you’ve pulled yourself out of my orbit.
“But you said, eternity…” My words are wisps of chalk as your feet ink prints into the floor,
As your words float in and out of my mouth,
I hear the door shut in spite of the echos that roll into balls and stuff themselves in my ears.
The sound of the door and your last inky foot, fight each other in a moot-rage that ends up nulling to the sound of dripping water.
In the end, I know you won,
Because my wounds still bleed at the touch,
And the chains of eternity you crafted still weigh me down to the floor.
Dear, eternity,
You always thought too much of me.


  • Tony36

    Love it great write

  • lovedud

    Thank you, it always means a lot.

  • Jeff

    Very well written..great write

  • Augustus

    Thoughts: Forever, eternally lonely? Eternally wounded, tortured? I enjoyed reading. Thanks.

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