When she went out at night she wore lipstick that was a few shades too dark, crimson in reality, but black in the lack of light. I once asked her why she did it, her response measured and spoken as the only truth she made for herself.
“Because I want anyone that approaches me to know, no matter how brief the encounter, I will leave with their blood on my teeth.“
I never got to ask her how mine tasted compared to the rest.
//
As smoke she rises from the graying treetops To bleed against a sky That smells only of her
Destruction; my feeble set of lungs collapse.
About the Creator
S.W.
Prose writer with a passion for short stories and poems; focusing my work on the human interaction and perception of emotions, comparing social events to physical atonement.
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