her inquiries ring hollow.
she's extracted answers
from coiled veins which
spawn and hiss and stretch.

keys jingle as she
swaggers for a quick exit,
checking the mail
for the third time today.

i ask what she's running from.
"whatever i'm feeling," she replies,
"maybe it's just me."

well, we've been bunked
together for three months now,
yet here i am, bottling up
these emotions that sing,
they crack, break; suspended.
beneath the soliloquy,
blanketed by silence, i'm bleeding.

08/26/2004

Author's Note: the story of how i deal.

Posted on 08/26/2004
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe