January 26th, 2017

Like a crumpled piece of scratch paper

or a terrible first draft

she falls to the floor faster

than I, the feather, beside her.

 

Tears spring to her eyes;

brown pools fill, spilling over

onto her cheeks. The end. It’s bitter

but necessary, like the crumpling of the paper;

the creases and folds add weight

to the ink.

 

“Stop,” I yell, “pull the brakes,

prevent this collision from

tallying casualties.”

 

But she

has made up her mind

and I

have no fight left

 

and so we depart

not friends, but sworn enemies

our weapons of choice

the pain we inflicted on each other.

 

Source of Image: SpunkyKangaroo, Youtube

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