My Life Be Like


Splinters in my hands from opening the door so much.

Letting you back in is a mistake I like choosing.

It never matters how much my finger tips bleed in agony.

Sharp pieces cutting at the palms of my hands as I slam it shut.

My tears haven’t dried yet.

Footsteps creeping back upstairs to our rendezvous.

My hands are numb, no longer feeling the pain of your entrance, only the texture of your tongue against my middle finger.

Your mouth is the key to all my curves, you leave and your scent lingers.

I close the door again, adding splinters to my fingers.

1 thought on “Splinters”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.