Eyes narrowed,
teeth barred,
gnashing,
roaring,
no sleep tonight.
I don’t trust you,
and you don’t trust me.
So what are we still doing here?
Our hearts are breaking,
shattering in unison,
but my sharp, stabbing shards
belong wholly to you,
and likewise, yours to me.
But I can’t trust you,
and you can’t trust me.
So what are we still doing here?
We’re building up our
cement walls,
topping them with
barbed wire.
No one’s getting in again,
and we’ll never
let ourselves out.
I won’t trust you,
and you won’t trust me.
So what are we still doing here?
We’ve barricaded ourselves
deep in the dark caves
of our misery.
So far from the light of day,
not a streetlight in sight.
Not a singular solace.
Only then do we feel.
The pangs of aloneness ring out,
their hollow tones
lingering in our ears.
I want to trust you,
but will you trust me?
What are we still
doing here?
Have creative writing you would like to publish?
Email us at:
ubcocrwrcu@live.com
