the bones of what you believe
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Post by phosphorus on Nov 10, 2013 11:24:16 GMT -8
021 SONG
calgary’s thighs quivered as her legs took her down the alley. she took one step, two steps, a third. the heels to which she was unaccustomed reflected the instability of her feet. each one bucked and threatened to throw her gait off, but yet she somehow managed to keep moving.
triangles are my favorite shape.
the alcohol clouded her synapses. the buzzing fluorescence above her wrapped her head in cotton, tried to make her forget. yet she was infinitely aware of what she happened and how much she hated herself for it.
three points where two lines meet.
she was not the barhopping type, so why or how her friend convinced her were both indiscernible. what she did know, though, was the burning of shots as they slunk down her throat. the sensation of fingers clasped around her wrists and the violent odor of too much cheap beer assaulting her nose. the come-ons of the too-confident lothario who thought she was easy pickings. her protests of no, lightened by the drink but still urgent. his inability to listen. the violent word that starts with a ‘c.’
toe to toe, back to back, let's go.
her fist against his nose and her dash out, around the block.
my love, it’s very late.
a sound of footsteps – probably the friend – echoed in puddles. but calgary didn’t care. she fell finally, slid seated down the bare brick wall, her back scraping dust from the masonry. her palms gouged her eyes and pushed the tears into the ducts.
‘til morning comes,
she howled.
let’s tessellate.
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