It’s supposed to fit.
I know it.
It’s a stretch most days.
The fabric is often not enough
The string too short
The stitches too loose
The patches...
Well, have to appreciate the colours.
It all has to work together.
I realize this,
I am the tailor of this peice.
Yet the price that has to be paid
On the daily
In the form of whatever you consider signifiant
Is given to the point of debt.
All this for the sake of
fitting?
I would rather drive myself into a wall.
About the Creator
Mihaela Vasileva
I write based on heart. I love based on thought. I think based on truth.
Keep reading
More stories from Mihaela Vasileva and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Devil's Cut
“Comrade, finally you’re awake.” The voice was smooth, sensual. A flickering incandescent bar was all that lit the white, sterile room. All Vladimir remembered was everything going black. He tried to move his arms and found them strapped to the gurney.
By Matthew J. Fromm4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.