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november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind

Category

cheating

Bruised

too many marks and bruises
on alabaster skin
branded by the touch of those
that still linger on your fingertips
afraid of the next tell-tale sign
to blow up what is left of her pride
running out of patience,
and from a place in hell
where secrecy is only
a figment of your imagination

iPhone pillow talks,
instagratification,
how long does your thrill last?
until you have emptied
your bottle of Bushmills?
until whoever’s make-up is smeared?
when reality is breathing down
your neck?
or rather
when you wake up alone, again…

only five hours to Paris
whispers of the Seine
balm for her soul
you know who is waiting for her
celui qui danse
au rhytme d’un cœur fragile
she took your car by the way
was it worth it?

 

© november child
photo credit: Aparajith Bharathiyan via Flickr
Detonate

In the Shadows

In the Shadows. Waiting. For Him. Again.
It seems it is all she has been doing lately.
Nerve-wracking hours spent glued to a window,
hoping against hope, set up for disappointment.

Wishing. In the Shadows. Praying. Again.
Urging the next headlights that brighten
the dark corners of the room, but never
the darkness in her heart, to be his.

Hurting. Crying. In the Shadows. Again.
Humiliated by the memories of the smell of
too sweet perfume on his skin, and the trail
on his back where nails, not hers, drew blood.

In the Shadows. Scorned. Angry. Again.
Facing the self-loathing caused by
her indecisiveness, when all it takes is
to pack his suitcase and leave it at the front door.

 

© november child
in response to Michelle Toussaint Photo Fiction #77
photo credit: Josefine Jonsson

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