Young Writers Society

I'm lying on my bed,
Wrapped in too many clothes -
I've been exposed,
I feel naked.
Today, Dreaded Tuesday,
Was always meant to be the end.
Was it? Well yes...
But this wasn't the end
I'd been planning for.
And I was too weak to defend
My wretched, pitied self.

But the clothes won't block
The gaping wound in my chest.
They refuse to soak the blood
From my bitten neck.
They just scratch the knife,
Stuck tight in my back.
These wounds didn't kill me,
I'm very much alive.
But your stare almost did...

That look, that expression...
They all had it; but yours,
Yours felt like a thousand
Blunt thudding rocks in my skull,
And a million sharp arrows
Piercing my bubble.
How can such icy blue eyes
Bring such a lump to my throat?
All the walls crumbled around me,
And the river ran dry.

I wish I could rip off my clothing:
Feel comfortable naked and cold.
But your stare chilled me too much.
Your silence made my skin prickle.
And then that word,
"Obsession"
Not obsession, addiction, love.
Love! Who can hate for love?

I went to burn on of your pictures
In one of your candles.
I couldn't do it though.
A laugh shuddered down my spine,
And a song sang in my mind.
I rocked back and forth,
And made it all ok.
If I have to destroy this,
Why destroy it today?

I've lied before, I can again.
I'm not keeping this label.
"A Book of Excuses" have I.
I want to keep you,
And I will.