Hate Department

Hate Department

 

 

Cringing in a corner

doesn’t suit her,

much.

 

She does it anyway.

 

Waiting

for the feelings to change,

in bold breaths 

breathing.

 

Slipping her eyes;

something less formal.

 

She has that “stay away from me” look

down pat,

because she cares too much.

 

Always the problem.

 

Her emotions burn

like cheap cigarettes,

cold.

 

Almost surreal.

 

And she can feel the sand

in her teeth,

the heat of her skin,

steam.

 

She knew this moment inevitable,

tried to wish it away

with small gestures.

 

But it came just the same.