Excuse the typo on the second to last line! – Mel x
a memory trapped in a coffee shop
its mist-ed rained window panes
sheltering us from the air
letting us hide
for a moment longer
in the steam cloud of secrets
pretending it wasn’t about to end
Breaking, upwards of the truth-
to the grit,
the pieces beneath.
The essence of sadness, combined with
shock and spittle through angst and hatred.
Break, in the utmost foundation;
the line in the undusted,
the crack in the gateway.
by the bind,
seeping, the cold truth
and you wake up,
wet and alone
unknown and blissful,
gone from the grip.
Ruined by words.
Break – up.
This gallery contains 4 photos.
THE LAST PAGE IS THE KINDEST – THE TYPEWRITER TALES BY MELISSA HOLDEN