He liked it better when I wrote stories with a clear storyline
When my language was understandable but yes tricky
thin with a solid bone
He liked it when I wrote in french espanish fuckedupenglish angry clever woman, yes You have the world on a leashhh he said shhhh
I got annoyed
No excuse for violence, d`accord, but I began to push him just a little harder against the wall, when I came up from behind, when he stood by the fridge.
He hardly tilted, but I began imagening him tumbling backwards landing on a sword, the air from his lungs pushed out with a shhhhhh.
But I did not kill him. I stopped writing.
I picked his eyeballs out when he was sleeping.
Put on a corset and broke every wooden thing in the house. Breaking wood gives me a sad wonderful feeling.
Then I went outside.
Poetry by Ghost of Heino
Read 500 times
Written on 2018-11-04 at 00:36
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