Soul Speaker

Her mother walks in through the door.
Her mother yells about the mistake of having such a child.
Her mother laughs about the child's failures.
She slams the door after her mother's retreating figure.
She slams the door on love.
She slams the door on hope.
The air drops negative degrees.
The air tangles with her curly hair.
The air bursts with cruel vengeance.
She throws a punch at the unforgiving wall; only too late does she remembers the promise she made.
She throws another punch but at her pillow; she knows the pain will not reach her here.
She throws herself upon the floor; she is numb by this point.
Turning around, she desperately looks for an escape route.
Turning around, she swears she smelled his sweet innocent scent.
Turning around, she falls to her knees in a beg for mercy.
Crying out, she sees the picture of them upon her desk.
Crying out, she snatches the picture and drives it through with her bare fist.
Crying out, she gently picks up the photo and kisses the jagged glass upon his cheek.
Picking up the broken glass, she clutches it in a death grip in her hand.
Picking up the broken glass, she holds her hand out over the seventeenth story window of her apartment.
Picking up the broken glass, she lets the glass fall to the ground in the pretty pattern that glass falls in.
She wonders if she'll ever fall in such grace.
She wonders if she'll ever use her right hand again.
She wonders if she'll ever see him again.
The mirror taunts her.
The mirror shows her blatant honesty.
The mirror is too bright for her to see.
Looking at her reflection, tears stain her smooth cheeks.
Looking at her reflection, she is blinded by hate.
Looking at her reflection, she shatters the glass into a million sparkling pieces.
The glass falls all around her.
The glass falls upon her face and leave a signature of red.
The glass falls but still reflects a million more honest copies of herself.
Empty is the will she used to have.
Empty is the hollow heart of hope.
Empty is the air as she falls from seventeen stories.
Glorious is the thrill of wind against her skin.
Glorious is the thrill of speed out of control.
Glorious is the thrill of the blessed end.

He said, She said.

"I have to leave," he said.
A part of her died.
"But I love you," he tried.
"I hate you," she lied.
"I'm trying to save you!" he cried.

 

He was hurt.
She was the first.

He held her tight.
She did not fight.

He was so confused.
She felt so misused.

He thought it was the right thing to do.
She felt her heart break right in two.

He cared too much.
She was so prone to hurt and such.

He gave what he called freedom.
She received damnation.

He let her cry on his shoulder.
She leaned on him, the ungiving boulder.

He held her heart and kissed her cheek.
She knew she would not last a week.

He took her hand and led her out of the darkness.
She felt alone and so worthless.

He wanted to tell her the truth.
She felt she had nothing to lose.

He kept to himself.
She hated herself.

 

"I'm sorry," she tried.
"Me too," he lied.
A part of him died.
"Please save me," she cried.
"I tried," he sighed.