My head is shoved between
my bed and my nightstand.
It's there because my sheets
are in the wash and it's the
only other place I could think
of where my screams for you
wouldn't echo.
I don't want my
mother to hear me.
I don't want her to think
I'm still crying over you.
YOU ARE READING
Pinprick
PoetryA collection of short poetry that will pierce the skin, but not slice you open.
