wine

I drank the whole damn bottle of white fruity tinged wine. Homemade and a madly stitched quilt of all my boyfriend's body parts. First, they were his feet, gracefully and immensely ugly; his hands, a stone pillow that once cradled my head.

These would carry on and never stop with their insane death song. His hazel eyes droning lullaby after lullaby, into my tired and bruised skin.

Why could he never leave it alone? I don't need to be strong, I don't need to cry like a child, an insecure girl that needs her father. No! I just need to be left alone.

Every time I hear that song all over again I can feel the beating but never the lashing. Sharp and never dull.