Clichés - Jessica Howatson

Blue top –light not dark-
warm in a glass
just enough 
to make your fingertips feel fire
before it hits the floor
a cacophony
of splinters on ceramics
rain on the roof
each breath is tequila
it’ll take more than alcohol
to drown this out

Submission comes 
in the form of falling
Ear to the ground
cheek on tiles
shatter shards on skin 

to the whitewash
that’s salted to taste
with the tears 
that tricked their way
into battle
like so many Trojan horses
now is the time to cry
what else is spilt milk good for?

the world is
too many pieces
scattered across your palms
you’ve never seen suicide so close

Contributor's Note

I'm a first year English student with a sordid backstory and a problem with punctuality. I write because I don't know how else to find a way to breathe.


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