chocostein

i. your words drip with crimson as you bite your lip; you always liked to pretend you held the strength of metal, and now all that’s left is the aftertaste of copper trickling down your throat- what happened to the child throwing pennies in the fountain? ii. hidden under the threaded sleeves of your sweater, I can picture your hands shaking like earthquakes and your fists held clenched; I worry your fingernails cut dashed lines into the palms of your hands, like the ones painted on back roads and highways- I’m worried where you plan on going iii. viewing your puffy eyes and hearing woebegone-winded words tangle on your tra