Homesick
A short poem about toxic relationships.
As his hands trace the curve of my prison.
The demons within clamber about at his touch
Fumbling to reach back through thin, elastic skin.
As his lips brush mine,
Hellfire licks at the inside of my cheeks,
His tongue dancing with the flames.
Playful.
Eager.
I wonder how he can stand the blistering heat?
How he could bear to hear the heartbreak and longing
In my every panted breath?
I take in his heaving figure,
Watching as the sweat drips from undulating muscle
And onto my corrupted body.
As I gaze into his eyes,
My own features are reflected back at me by black mirrors.
Those inky pools shining insidiously in the moonlight.
Sinful.
Wicked.
Color blooms upon my skin,
His rough hands leave behind soot
In the shape of his gripping fingers on my hips.
He is not afraid of nor repulsed by my unholy nature.
Perhaps because my blackened flesh and internal rot
Remind him of home.
About the Creator
Anna Miller
I am a twenty one year old aspiring poet with a love for writing stories and keep up various separate journals. I am new to the whole 'professional writing' thing so this is going to be a learning experience!
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
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