by Ari Collins
His hands froze the doorknob. Not hot anger, stone. I wished I wanted to re-inhale my words, suck don't blow. Instead more gusts, a category three firestorm of faults, vices.
He left and I did want to breathe my words back in, swallow the air, get the hiccups. I couldn't, it was over, and out.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
I Didn't Inhale
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1 comment:
The first line needed editing, when it was pointed out to me that it was singlehandedly destroying the English language. And not in a good way.
Of course, I have no idea about the rest of it either, but at least it's different for me.
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