You push me away as if I'm on a swing and you expect me to come crawling back. You pluck at my heartstrings as if I were a violin, so that you can hear that sad soundtrack. You miss me and then hate me, discard me, and then need me. You feel me, you see me, you hear me, and then leave me. You toy with my thoughts like tumbling blocks. Scatter them around inside your toybox. You use hushed words and silenced whispers to weave the web that everyone remembers. So that when I come forth into the light, it appears that I am the one who caused this blight. So push away at all my buttons, knowing I have nowhere to run. You push and you push and you push until your plaything is done.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Christopher Foster and writers in Poets and other communities.
Sinister
Your sinister touch. That slowly blackens my soul. Makes me forget all reason. No matter the toll. Your devilish embrace. Is like heated hands upon my heart. Made to make me feel safe. While snuffing out my spark. You repeatedly beat the words into me, as if they were the thump of a war drum. Slap sickly slights at my name until I am nothing but numb. You who stands above me, so very tall. Your hand on my shoulder but no support at all. Your twisted horns are like the words from your mouth. Confusingly real but they cause so much doubt. Your sinister touch. That has blackened my soul. I've lost myself and now you're all I know.
By Christopher Foster4 years ago in Poets
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.