Knives

Series of knives, aimed at my heart
Lying on the ground, bleeding
With glimmers of a broken dream, of what once was
Floating and shimmering in maroon hell
Twinkling like stars in the vacant sky
Crusting along the winding route
Trying to find hope, something
Trailing warmth, till it dries

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Vacant wedding

“Maybe I’ll have a song like this in my wedding,” she quickly thought and told her friend, while dancing out of sync with a drink in one hand. Her lips were frozen in a half smile, and her eyes were distant. She almost fell down, but her friend gathered her up. That would have been painful, thought the friend… considering how out-of-shape she was. The woman continued to dance, bending her knees up and down. The friend thought about her own toddler nephews who danced like that. The woman’s looped up shawl moved to the side, exposing an unkempt tattoo on her upper arm. From the distance, it looked like a big black mole over her pale cottage-cheese like arm. A song that the woman liked began to play, and she began shouting it out of tune. Tonight was the highlight of her year. She hadn’t had this much fun in months. Tonight was an opportunity to drink. Tonight was an opportunity to block out all the issues in her life until the next day. But she’d been doing that all her life anyway; all forty-five years.

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