“Leave.”
Your tone, resentful;
acrid on your tongue.
Your face, torn
in between anger
and anguish.
“Leave.”
Your breath, ragged.
Your lips, chapped;
hungry, forceful petals
sending butterfly rebels.
“Leave.”
Your hand around my wrist
holding me in place.
Your eyes imploring,
entreating me to stay.
-Nocturnal Scribe
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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014
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