Baby

The phone beeped. Once, twice. You can hear it echo down the hall. She looks at it, with little interest. She swung the door opened into another cold winter night. Fumbling her pockets for her lighter, she lit a Malboro. Drawing circles after circles.

"No matter how hard you cling, it will still slip through your fingers."

Such stinging words.

The evening sky's painted black again, as if robbed cruelly of it's laughter and joy. Just like her heart. Empty, dull.

She screamed silently.

Back in her empty house, the vacuum is overwhelming. She wants to scream the highest pitch, cry the largest drop of tear, run the longest distance. She wants to pull out all her hair, returning back to the innocence of a baby. She wants to slit open her stomach, like the way they did to her mother so that she can have her first breath. She's all coiled u now, foetal position. Naked.

Self-denial. Self-reproach. Self-ish.

Maybe when the Sun rises beyond the glass windows, hers will too. Until then, darkness looms. After all, you come into this world alone, you will leave alone too. sputnik spunned @12:33 AM