Escape.

feet strike pavement, echoes of a path I used to take. running from you, or toward? both are the same mistake. why do the cracks in the concrete make me crave the scratching tickle of your kiss? escape I’m free of this illusion but you’re the lie I hate to miss. Thanks for reading, Victoria…

Clean Your Mess

It would be simpler, a sharpened blade trailed down slender wrist. Easier than this treacherous game called life. There would be no desire, hope, pain, want, failure. Only absolution, quiet. It would be simpler a handful of pills, some pink, some blue, maybe yellow, just for fun. Eyelids heavy, promised rest, a final resolution that…