panacea

Maybe a touch, maybe a kiss
maybe even just a chance for us
being still and silent
warm in the darkness.
You, right next to me,
our hearts beating in sync~
a cure for all pain.

Always,
touches, and kisses,
please.

~~~

For #WhisperingNeds 98

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

rhubarb

Where is this all coming from, this restlessness bubbling beneath? Spurts would shoot to the surface, translated into anger. Silence stops being peaceful, and colors no longer look and feel beautiful. That’s when red would be viewed as pretense, layers thought as a mask, songs heard as a wail in mourning.

Maybe all we need is a safe place to smear our ink, to cry, to bleed.

~~~

For #WhisperingNeds 97

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

placebos

Pills after pills
downed to kill
the pain.

Hours pass~
the brain is led to believe
it’s healing.

But the pills are placebos
for there’s nothing they can do
about something
that’s already missing.

~~~

For #WhisperingNeds 96, “lacuna”

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

all a mirage

They found her curled up in the dark corner of a forsaken shed: seemingly at peace, restful, right where she belonged.

“Come home,” they crooned. “We’ll watch sunsets together again.”

She said nothing, but her eyes caressed all hearts looking down at her. As she spilled invisible words that had been begging to be set free, she wondered how many of these souls really wanted her to return, and how many came to see her with a dagger behind their back.

~~~

For #WhisperingNeds 94.

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved.

the field trip

Ben is quiet
tonight, more so than usual.
Mom hardly notices, and he does not blame her.
She’s always tired when she gets home late every day
from her second job.

Busying himself with homework
at the dining table, some people chattering on TV
in the background,
out of a corner of his eyes
he sees his mother folding laundry
looking much older than she really is.

He takes a deep breath,
for the umpteenth time
wondering what to say to Mrs. Brown
in the morning,
when he shows up in class
without the money
to pay for the field trip tomorrow.

~~~

For #WhisperingNeds 93, “money”.

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved