the writers room

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
every felt so broken, recently some one hurt me, i did not see it coming and i should have so i could build my walls to protect myself instead of letting them break me down.

Submitted: August 14, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 14, 2017



The writers room


The ink from you tongue drips onto the paper of my mind, selfishly you splatter the stains soaking not only the pages we used to write together but the fabric that wrapped around the worming thoughts that you used to lay under. you took it and set it on fire with my passion and after you used the sink to flood the room killing the fire with no care whether I was even in the room or not, little by little you chipped the chandelier with your harsh words and weighed me down to nothing but a girl on her knees, on the damaged wooden tiles that you dragged the conversations we had across until they spelled nothing but loss, you claim that i'm always playing the victim when in reality i've already broken the mirror i saw myself through with the candleabra, the same one you took to smash in the windows that let the light it, now only the rain fills the room, your rain with its salt destroying the furniture that together we build. When I met you I painted these walls a bright color, one like your eyes, but with those eyes you looked straight into my shattered windows and the color faded, and now that my room is completely on the edge of unsalvageable, you only watch from the hall, you watch me through the door frame as I try and pick up the scorched soaked stained papers of what was the poetry of our relationship, now i'm only waiting for you to close the door and leave the house.


© Copyright 2019 Eden Hong. All rights reserved.

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