A window and a mirror....
Jul. 4th, 2002 07:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7Loved Ones
Allowing himself to feel
an unfamiliar longing;
walking in through the door
of the house he once called
home.
Looking at the walls,
no longer finding any comfort
in furniture he never chose.
He sits on the oddly patterned couch,
remembering (or attempting to remember)
the last time he had been
happy here.
He finds himself on the stairs.
He wonders, briefly,
how he got there,
and what he was planing to do...
But he is at the bedroom door,
and all thoughts are wiped away.
(His hands close tighter)
He trails his hand along the wall,
as he walks
to the living room.
He thinks about the number of times
he's had to yell at them
about writing on the walls...
They'd always looked so hurt,
by it.
He looks behind him and sees
smudges and handprints, along the wall.
He says, aloud, "For you."
She would probably be upset,
but he would make it ok.
A little more liquid, and those stains came right
off.
He sits on the couch, again,
and waits.
("What are you doing here?"
"I came to see the kids."
"The children are sleeping...")
She wrings her hands and
edges toward the stairs.
("I know...")
He wipes his hand across his brow.
She, never taking her eyes off of him,
sees a smear of red.
Her eyes flicker around the room,
to the walls,
to his hands.
She makes a break for the stairs.
His hand is on her back, holding her.
("Where are you going?")
He sounds almost insulted. Himself
like a petulant child.
("What have you done to the children?!"
"It's like you said: They're sleeping...
Did you want to see them?"
"Oh, god, why..!")
He is pulling her up the stairs,
to the door of her bedroom.
He drags her to the corner of the bed,
and pushes her face to the soaking mess.
She gags, sobs, controls herself,
and turns her head to the side.
Before he turns her head back
("LOOK! Look, godamnit!!"),
she sees it on the bedside table,
where he left it.
She lunges to the left and
grabs the knife,
as his hands are wrapping around
her throat.
As she lays there, locked with him,
he leans in and kisses her.
One of his hands grips tighter,
around her neck, and the other
is sliding up her thigh.
As she pushes the knife in,
again and again,
running out of air,
she looks into his eyes,
and the happy gleam, there,
reminds her of their first night together.
(c)2002 Damien Williams
Allowing himself to feel
an unfamiliar longing;
walking in through the door
of the house he once called
home.
Looking at the walls,
no longer finding any comfort
in furniture he never chose.
He sits on the oddly patterned couch,
remembering (or attempting to remember)
the last time he had been
happy here.
He finds himself on the stairs.
He wonders, briefly,
how he got there,
and what he was planing to do...
But he is at the bedroom door,
and all thoughts are wiped away.
(His hands close tighter)
He trails his hand along the wall,
as he walks
to the living room.
He thinks about the number of times
he's had to yell at them
about writing on the walls...
They'd always looked so hurt,
by it.
He looks behind him and sees
smudges and handprints, along the wall.
He says, aloud, "For you."
She would probably be upset,
but he would make it ok.
A little more liquid, and those stains came right
off.
He sits on the couch, again,
and waits.
("What are you doing here?"
"I came to see the kids."
"The children are sleeping...")
She wrings her hands and
edges toward the stairs.
("I know...")
He wipes his hand across his brow.
She, never taking her eyes off of him,
sees a smear of red.
Her eyes flicker around the room,
to the walls,
to his hands.
She makes a break for the stairs.
His hand is on her back, holding her.
("Where are you going?")
He sounds almost insulted. Himself
like a petulant child.
("What have you done to the children?!"
"It's like you said: They're sleeping...
Did you want to see them?"
"Oh, god, why..!")
He is pulling her up the stairs,
to the door of her bedroom.
He drags her to the corner of the bed,
and pushes her face to the soaking mess.
She gags, sobs, controls herself,
and turns her head to the side.
Before he turns her head back
("LOOK! Look, godamnit!!"),
she sees it on the bedside table,
where he left it.
She lunges to the left and
grabs the knife,
as his hands are wrapping around
her throat.
As she lays there, locked with him,
he leans in and kisses her.
One of his hands grips tighter,
around her neck, and the other
is sliding up her thigh.
As she pushes the knife in,
again and again,
running out of air,
she looks into his eyes,
and the happy gleam, there,
reminds her of their first night together.
(c)2002 Damien Williams
