You Win.

Sometimes; things just write themselves.

You Win.

 

It’s cold when the door opens,

the wind blows in with the rain.

the icy droplets cut into my skin,

the running blood my pain.

 

The silence as you enter,

it chills me to the bone.

I count the steps you take,

before the first item is thrown.

 

You take the vase, the tulips blue,

and smash it against the wall.

I wait in silence, count the pieces

as one by one they fall.

 

It’s a ritual, a habit

something commonplace.

I wait in jagged calmness,

for the change in pace.

 

Your hands they are but gentle

as they rest upon my skin.

I give up all pretence as the tears fall,

alright, that’s it. You Win.

Author's Note

There are grammar problems, so you can ignore them. Anything else is up for Concrit :).

Reviews

[Peter Joseph Swanson]

I enjoyed that! It felt very real.