Tread Lightly, Broken Soul

One step
you’re biting your lower
lip
the way you
always do
giddy fingers running
around glass
mouths
you whisper a
hope or
curse;

Next step
he hands you
a towel
wipe the waves
of soaring sense
soaking sweat
you rubbed off
your
innocence;

Another step
you let go
your fear
you’re intoxicated with
glowing promises of
love and eternal
bliss;

Following step
he trampled all
over
your ravishing reverie
he enraptured
then ravished
you
and the veil
dropped
you entered the
tunnel;

Last step
he roamed away
footprints all that
was left
you stared
you started
you stayed
you sank
and I’m sorry
I should’ve been
there
instead
but I’m not sorry
he prowled now
elsewhere –

His last
My first
Your ultimate
Our only
Step.

 

 

COPYRIGHTED TINYVOICE CJB
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Lesson Learnt

When I was
younger
and
naive
she turned her
back
to me
I didn’t understand
couldn’t understand
why
why would people
ever
turn their back
to anyone
they care about.

The hurt
I carried
stayed long
into the
future
but slowly
it dissipated
disappeared
with the
coming wind.

Then I met
you
and life was
colourful
again.
I learnt
to let go of
fear
doubt
insecurities –
I learnt
to trust
again.

Today
the knife
you held
stabbed
right through
my heart
from the
back.

You thought
you thought
I turned my
back
to you
but only one
who
truly trusts
another
would ever
allow themselves
to be in
such a
vulnerable
exposed
position.

I thought
I believed
I trusted
you had
my back.

 

 

COPYRIGHTED TINYVOICE CJB

Crippled

“Is it a storm?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He swung his backpack over his shoulders. “Stay here, it’ll be safer. I’ll check it out.”

“Alone? Here? No, I’d rather be with you. I’m coming along!”

But he’d left. She was angry, upset that he didn’t think her capable or brave enough.

Soon it was cold. She knew she’d have to start exploring this house soon. She didn’t like the dark. Should’ve just gone with him, she thought. I could still go after him now.

He’s right, it’s safer here. The commotion loomed louder. Who’s to know what’s outside? By night she had ventured into what might have been the drawing room; handsome once, dilapidated now. There she made the musty old couch her bed for the night.

The next day, she put her foot into the kitchen, hoping he’d return soon. The following day she found canned food in the basement. The day after, the shower with a rusted pipe (the shower head nowhere to be seen) with only a tiny stream of cold water. Then slowly up the rotting stairs the next sunrise. The next sundown she slept on a mattress in one of the rooms, carpet curled and flattened.

The ruckus outside never went away. She forgot about him, she wasn’t frightened anymore. She knew every inch of this house. Her home.

Had it been weeks, months, years?

The sun barely filtered through the heavy curtains (she hated opening them, never did; it could be dangerous and she was safe here, inside, hidden, unseen from outside) when she awoke. Something was different. She couldn’t place it at first.

Then, she realised. It was quiet outside. She’d gotten used to the noise.

The door opened. “I’m back,” he said. “Let’s go. It’s safe now.”

The sun through the door was too bright, his silhouette now unknown to her, the world outside unknown to her; no, it’s not safe outside anymore.

He held out his hands, but she didn’t want to leave anymore. This cage was all she knew.

 

 

COPYRIGHTED TINYVOICE CJB

Clasp

When things feel so
out
of control
so out of my
hands
I turn to
something else
trying to fill
these empty
lonely
hands.

I try to
hold onto
something else
grip onto
something else
to feel in
control
to feel
again.

But they
say
if you grasp
sand
too tightly
it slips
trickles
right through
your very
fingers,
hands empty
again.

I keep
searching
looking
for something
else
again and
again.

What I
didn’t know
understand
realise
that all
I had to do
was
reach out
and
hold
your hand.

 

 

COPYRIGHTED TINYVOICE CJB

Clockwork

My sheep came
up to me
its wool soft
against
my face
my tears
staining
it
turning black
my sheep –
my sheep
turning black
for me.

Would you
do the same?
Do I want
you
to do the same?

Tears
turning it
black –
More tears
because
it’s turning
black.

Would you join
me in my
vicious cycle?
Do I want
you
to join me
in my
vicious cycle?

Like a
clock
whose hands
turn on
and on
endlessly
unending
in a
circle
cycle
without rest
trapped.

Do you want to?

 

 

COPYRIGHTED TINYVOICE CJB