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16-17, F
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Montanaman · M
He sees the tear stained mascara on my tired eyes,
The glass of red balanced delicately in my fingertips,
The look of desperation
As he watches me,
Figuring out my next move,
I drop the glass.
It falls in slow motion,
Like our life.
When it finally hits the floor,
And shatters in a hundred pieces,
Red stains galore.
His eyes widen,
Disbelief.
My words spoken in a dead calm-
"That's my heart. My soul.
My blood. Broken and shattered beyond recognition."
His silence is deafening.
Maybe now, he'll understand
What his words do to me.
-Kelly. (Montana)😎
The glass of red balanced delicately in my fingertips,
The look of desperation
As he watches me,
Figuring out my next move,
I drop the glass.
It falls in slow motion,
Like our life.
When it finally hits the floor,
And shatters in a hundred pieces,
Red stains galore.
His eyes widen,
Disbelief.
My words spoken in a dead calm-
"That's my heart. My soul.
My blood. Broken and shattered beyond recognition."
His silence is deafening.
Maybe now, he'll understand
What his words do to me.
-Kelly. (Montana)😎