llaella
There was a strange flare in the eyes of yours. You didn't know what to do with your hands. You looked at me and said: 'You are nothing to me'. So I cried. Not only did you broke me, but also built a wall. And the wall still hits me with the colour of its bricks.
It was my stomach's revolt against your words. I was puking on the ground; you were standing there and watching my tears falling slowly on the dirty ground. No longer could I listen to you complaining about the sun hitting your face, about every move of mine that, as you said, had been making you sick. Don't complain no more, honey, I won't puke again. I am thin enough.
I was waiting for you in the darkroom. The only sound was the dripping of my eyelids, the immeasurable whisper of tears. Where are you? Why did you take away the light?
writing since 2011 · 3 entries · 3 days shown up
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tearsgroundwallwaitingdarkroomsounddrippingeyelidsimmeasurablewhisperlightstomach'srevoltagainstwordspuking