Hand of AgonyA Poem by Y.F.The cold caress of pain
With his tongue,
as sharp as a letter opener, he lashed, tearing me open, spilling all my secrets. I've cried a symphony that day, written in the key of F, and he, a born conductor, waved his hands through the air, playing with the pitch of my voice. Those terrible things said softly moving across my skin, giving me goosebumps, brushing my hair in the wrong direction, electric and raw. © 2010 Y.F.Reviews
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2 Reviews Added on March 7, 2010 Last Updated on March 7, 2010 AuthorY.F.Do not disturb me, I'm already disturbed. ;)About**I don't really use this account anymore - keeping it open to preserve the existing content, but might close it in the future.** I've been writing throughout the vast majority of my life, mostly b.. more..Writing
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