Sta.sh
Crumpled in her palms
it became nothing more than a ball of tinfoil.
With blunted corners
protesting /*¬\`| their way from the curl.
I watched her bite her nails
until the fingers swelled with blood
around the edges,
I did not stop her. I did not want to stop her.
Dissatisfied with the destruction
She put the packet on the table,
rubbed it out smooth
until it was flat and dull once more.
She tugged at the perforated veins
Until they dis
inter
grated.
She ripped and dug the blunted corners of her hands
Until the seeds popped out.
Pale faced imitations of her own blank face.
I did not stop her. I did not want to stop her.
She ordered them into a firing line
and carefully, consideredly,
she ground her fist into them.
She made them into dust.
Finally, generations too late, the tears came
and then I went to her.
To pick up the pieces, to sew up the holes.
To my Stitches..
The next day we went together. I held that same palm
as a fresh packet of Lithium was ordered.
She cried.
Apologised for the waste.
Then I noticed that now she was, at last, outside,
in the sun, where she belonged
The tears, the unblistered pack and her engagement ring
All shone with the same timid glow of silver.
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-Caith