violation
scabbed over
a seam of translucence
she pulls at her sleeve
lays her wrist upon table
in the over-warm room
wasn’t much she murmurs
was a once
wasn’t anything
wounds heal
in time
but now she whispers
skin is pages paper-thin
wounds write themselves
arrange themselves
linger
ironic in their permanence
defying time
inking goodbyes
the one within
never meant to read
she plucks at threads
meets my eyes
age means everything you are
open to rippage
I sip my coffee
with regret.
Did you get the chance to read yesterday’s post?
GO DO THAT.
I need you.
Your words say so much for being so few. Also saves on recycled electrons. Oh, and talks about those of us who are old.
Recycled electrons?
HA!
Each scar a memory. A lesson.
Never regret sipping coffee.
Not the only meaning of that last line.
Just a thought.