Your fists are carving crescent moons into your palms. You have put on your best poker face but your layers are as thin as an onion's. Underneath the nonchalant facade is a sneer. Your teeth have ground themselves like gears. In your verbal silence, the scraping of bone is the only noise.
YOU ARE READING
Metamorphosis
Poetry"You do not cease to exist just because I wish you to." Started: 4/3/20 Finished: 8/20/20 My 6th poetry book.
