Sunday, April 12, 2009
I hate you.
There was no sound in the room.
The blinding darkness spilled all over the scene.
The chilly winds were absent, gone with all the giggles and smiles.
He sat in the corner, crying
In his hand was a picture of his friend
A pretty young girl; long smooth hair, joyful smile
braced teeth, a bit chubby but cute,
Sweat rolls down his forehead every time the clock ticks
And as every minute pass, every blissful memory that appears
his grip of the picture tightens.
His clutches were on the image
His nails were clawing and scratching the surface
ripping all the colors out of the picture
There were sweat, tears and blood
And again, as every moment pass, the tighter his grip becomes
He remained sitting
hugging his knees with his arms
cradling himself to sleep
to shut his eyes that are out of tears
He wanted to rest
But he couldn't
He stares at the picture with unfathomable anger
He felt manipulated
He felt forsaken
If only words could define his anger
If only someone would sit with him and listen
If only his friend would explain herself