Today’s Author Prompt:
She sang a song I’d never heard, and yet it felt so familiar.
White-hot frustration made me want
To throw things, to shatter glass,
To rip apart paper,
To rip apart myself.
What is in store for you
Is infinitely worse than
Dealing with what has happened.
So I picked up my hands,
Itching to hurt,
Itching for hurt,
And let them feel around,
Like feelers on a fish from the deep
Or maybe the blind.
They found my guitar.
And she sang a song I’d never heard, and yet it felt so familiar.