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Poetry

The Aftertaste

…It’s in those few

fleeting moments,

when the tears have run dry,

and the debris

lays dead

on your bedroom floor,

your body too tired

to cry

or scream, your throat

hoarse

and your eyes dry.

No trace of the anger or the despair

that wreaked havoc

minutes ago,

the air so thick you can’t breathe

and the world so silent it’s deafening,

it’s when you think it can’t get any worse,

bite down on

the Aftertaste,

hold it there,

and memorize

every detail of how it tastes on your tongue,

write it on the roof of your mouth,

then get out from under the bed

and wash out all the remnants of it

from your hair,

from your skin,

from your eyes,

and watch it swirl

and disappear down the sink.

That’s how you let it go.

That’s how you let it let you go.

Not by denying it,

And shoving it

Down your throat,

But by gathering all the pieces from every corner of you it tries to hide in,

And crying it away into the abyss.

 

 

Author: Nyx
Email: nyxpoetry60@gmail.com
Author Bio: I write poetry, (or try, at least) I love coffee, books and cats.
Link to social media or website: Instagram @nyxpoetry60

 

Photo by ANMOL on Unsplash

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