I keep picking at our story, letting it scab over only to open it fresh again, thousands of blood cells coursing to the top for each moment together. Every time its scab over again, it's for a little longer, and a little more skin is formed, and the wound gets smaller. It’ll scar, new light brown pink cells showing off, proud to have beaten my impulses. I doubt you have a matching one. You started dating someone else before we stopped. You penciled me a letter so I could be as easily erased from your life. I’ll burn it someday.
About the Creator
Ariana GonBon
29yo bi Xicana. There's always more to write about, in more interesting ways than white men.
Instagram: @arte.con.ariana
For more stories unapproved by Vocal: colochosdeflores.wordpress.com
For entertaining tidbits: xismosaxit.com
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Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
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Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
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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 drafts7 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
Hello?? How does this not have more recognition? Your poem made me feel as if I myself were picking at a non-existent scab! Well done!