I left the house around 10pm on a Friday and it’s now 7am. Sunday. Where am I? I was picked up by, what’s his name? All I remember is Pizza Hut the night before and walking around aimlessly down the streets of Hempstead. Main Street. Fulton Ave. Henry Street. South Franklin.
He let me stay over. In his bed. I was naive to think I was safe yet as I slowly drift to sleep, crossing my legs for dear life, I suddenly felt weak.
Then it happened. Half-sleep, half-dead I felt an unfamiliar tongue in a region that was foreign to even me. Telling myself the entire time that this was not my body.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t feel anything except numb toes being stabbed with regret.
No comments:
Post a Comment