You can’t cut blood
yet it splits itself
out of a wound—
dangles raw
falls
like dew on a petal.
You can’t cradle tears
but you can lick wet cheeks
and think,
saltwater never tasted so warm.
She likes your broken hands—
the chopped zig-zags she would spit on,
and then say,
“I see a mansion with an olympic-sized pool in your future.”
You can’t mistake her red lipstick
for blood,
but when she kisses your naked wound
it stings
and
stains you.
She picks up the damp flower
tucks crinkled orange limbs behind her ear—
and spins away like she has new life.
You shake your hand,
trying to make more blood run—
She smiles down at your vulnerable bones…
tosses her hair like a dying fire.
Author: Stacey L Herrle
Email: [email protected]
Author Bio: My name is Stacey Herrle. I am a driven writer and a full-fledged dreamer. To me, my writing and dreams go hand-in-hand. I derive my inspiration for writing from personal experience, my heart and adventure. I want to be a writer who leaves a mark, who makes noise. I want to write artistically. To write fire. Electric. Raw. What is scary to write. Shake it up. Tell my truth. One day, I want to be a powerful voice for individuals who have trouble living what’s in their hearts– the feelings, the truths, the wants, the vulnerable windows and doors that want to open and share. To me, through writing, we have the opportunity to be our strongest selves– to be true to ourselves.
Link to social media or website: Instagram @posted_duck
