By KK Sierra
His throat is parched.
Yet, his mouth waters.
For just a little taste.
To ease his burden.
And trembling hands.
The bottle mocks him.
As he sits on the floor.
Storms rage within and without.
Cold and gray.
The liquid warms.
But numbs the soul.
He thinks he doesn't have.
A self-appointed cross to bear.
To wander alone.
Takes another drink.
Chimes sound from the phone.
He refuses to look.
Doesn't want to know.
Better to strike the first blow.
Than be vulnerable.
Push it in a locker.
Throw away the key.
Forget what they could be.
Reaches for the bottle.
Liquor the color of her eyes.
Her throat is parched.
Yet, her mouth waters.
For just a little taste.
To ease her burden.
And trembling hands.
The blade mocks her.
As she sits on the floor.
Storms rage within and without.
Cold and gray.
Steel on soft skin.
A little nick.
Numbs the soul.
She picks up the phone.
Shares her vulnerability.
Draws a line.
Can't forget what they could be.
Time ticks by.
Crimson stains.
Fabric the color of his eyes.
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