A

Sunday, November 2

Agog, adj.

I cannot imagine how hard this is for her. To hear me down the hall and remember how my skin looked when it was pressed against him instead of her. And then she goes and lets me into her room and starts to dance. She moves her hips and sways her head. She grabs my hands and makes me move with her. She makes me let go and she lets me be with her dancing our hearts out.

Agglomeration, n.

The whole world is made of bones and crushed flower petals and empty bathtubs. His hands on his back. His nails already had bits of my flesh underneath them, why not add more skin from another to help bury me further.

I never made you love me. I never made you pretend. But you're the one who said it first. You threw me in the air and dropped me in the puddle and you said it. You forgot to take me out of the puddle before you hydroplaned right through it.

via *

3 comments:

  1. "You threw me in the air and dropped me in the puddle and you said it. You forgot to take me out of the puddle before you hydroplaned right through it."

    BAM. that right there.

    ReplyDelete
  2. is this from your novel? it's interesting!

    ReplyDelete

Thank you for your words; they light a fire in my heart. You are lovely.