Prose and poetry,  Relationships


Amid the steady hum of passing buses rises the dissonance of raised voices. The midnight quiet broken by clashing cacophonies, symphonies of shouts.

I lick the droplets of blood from between the cracks of my lips before twisting my mouth open into a snarl. My words, I wield as weapons: their sole purpose is to inflict pain. The scars I am leaving behind are monuments of every pause, every punctuation, that has drawn blood.

Christmas lights blink cheerfully in the night, the bright colors reflected on your glasses where raindrops cling, mingling with tears I ache to kiss away.

A breath escapes your lips, twisting itself into a solitary word:

Even as I lapse into silence, my lips tremble, wanting more than anything to forgive. To forget. To say the words which I know would mend your wounds, but would never erase the scars.

The silence has shifted as you close the distance between us. I can taste the salt in your tears, feel your wet lashes crushed against my face, as our entwining lips say nothing, and everything.

Thus I give in like I always do, and always will.

Ela is a twentysomething who is constantly getting stuck in self-destructive behavior and bouts of low self-esteem. She struggles with depression and writes to relieve herself of her feelings. Sometimes she even blogs about other things like makeup and positivity. One of her pieces was published in the Inquirer Young Blood in October 2017. She likes cats, dogs, and sometimes even people.

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