One's soul is eternally awake
My heart begins to shiver in grief. He is in deep doze; his curls clothe my shoulder. Exhale. Inhale. I hold my breath. A spasm forces my shoulder from underneath his skull. In the midst of repositioning his head he murmurs, which I ignore. Piece by piece I collect my clothes off the floor.
Perhaps he’ll awaken and listen to my outlandish theories, take bubble baths with me, or pretend to laugh at my horrendously corny jokes.
My naturally pale hand is swollen with revenge. Broken glass and blood ooze from my torso. I told you I’d cut you off.
I cannot help but wonder if I caught a glimpse of his soul.
3:46 AM
He struggles to catch his breath in the heavy fumes. I am drenched in his grime. A thousand diseased bodies flood the Red Sea.
My recollection scowls at my bitten collar bone. I mercilessly grind a stainless steel sponge on my neck. The water thickens into red wine as I slip deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.
Nineteen year-old girl who loads her mind instead of her gun.
