Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
Suicidal
People say me being suicidal makes me weak. I'm not weak, I'm numb. It's like standing butt ass naked outside on the coldest of all winter nights; you see I am not weak I simply just can't fight. My lips are bruised, my body shivers. I can't walk let alone run.
By Auteanna Baysinger8 years ago in Poets
For Nobody
I am obsessed. I am obsessed with the feeling of your name on my tongue. It stains my mouth in red, leaving behind a taste of want and need. It’s imprinted on my brain, the ridges soft and falling away. In the moments of quiet the want consumes me and I can think of little else. The blood that rushes through my body flows at a rhythm that you dictate, my pulse rate increases as I touch the places where you touched that night. My touch does not leave behind the burn that yours did, but extinguish the flame inside me. I replay the night we bathed my bedsheets in sweat, the early morning sky lighting up behind us, revealing a new haven in the form of our bodies moving together. I couldn't stop touching you then, and I can’t stop touching me now. Thoughts of you seep into my conscious, taking form in my memories. My eyes flutter open, I am alone.
By Alejandra Pascual8 years ago in Poets
