Based on someone I knew once, cut so deeply and so often that it couldn't hurt anymore...


Snap

Snap

He snaps the phone
Shut.

Fuck.
He mutters.
I hate him.

Questioning glances,
Don't linger long.
It's never good news,
When the one he tries so hard
To hate,
Calls.

The dark mood descends.
They all hear the thunder,
And huddle closer.
Ignore the black clouds,
In a hope
That they will be blown away,
On a wind of whistles,
And meaningless words.
Have you seen that movie?
It's a nice day outside.
I like your hair.

They look away.
There's nothing they can do,
To make it better.
And all the meaning
In their words,
Will not make
The call
Mean more.

But he strides on,
Through falling snow.
He can't stop,
Though with each step,
He sinks deeper.

He's not coming.
He mutters.
Yeah.

The scar breaks open.
Again.
As it does every time,
His dad calls.

A wound too deep,
For any to heal.

A twig underfoot,
He breaks.
Again.

He snaps the phone
Shut.

Snap.




Poetry by Tal¿a
Read 1120 times
Written on 2006-10-04 at 03:55

Tags Pain  Angst  Family 

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