“Waiting”

On four hours of sleep, one’s brain tends to act up. Sometimes it decides to write a story without telling you why or what it’s about. Like this one.


She chewed on her lip.
It felt like putty between her teeth.
It felt good.

The pain was searing now,
but what use was pain
when the world was crashing down?

When he found her,
alone between the walls of brick and bone,
smeared with dust and debris,
he kissed the sobbing, bleeding flesh she had gnawed so viciously.

“I love you,” he said.

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