151

It moves in you and you can’t quite understand anything. It’s like a wind blowing around skyscrapers. In it’s cold draft, you are taken to violence by a whisper of assumed dissension. I run to our room without as much as a conscious thought. The door closes and the deadbolt locks. Your pounding at the door with a soon forgotten fury. Tomorrow, you’ll ask me how did I sleep. I don’t like you and rum.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: