My eyes lock with his
My mind locks itself
As I focus on the dark brown rim of his iris staring at my frail body
And think about everything
Everything. I don’t want the people in this room to know about me
“If minds could be read,” He asks
“What would I find in yours?”
He pauses to sucker punch my soul
With his eyes
And we exist in a limbo,
Strangled between zero and infinity.
While I try hard to avoid any suspicion that this girl in front of him is scars beneath her bones, hidden well with flesh and blood
And if he cuts through it
Separating the muscles
He would find flowers blooming
Beside her souls’ grave.
That if he cracks her skull open
He would probably choke on the ashes
Of the books she’s burnt in her minds’ library to delete all the evidence
That this girl in front of him
Is another broken story
Written by a perfectly working quill.
It doesn’t matter how hard he tries
Because every time she falls
She breaks into a million pieces
Which I have been collecting over the years.
And it doesn’t matter how many times I collect them
When she falls again
Some will be lost forever
Yet
Here I am
Trying. For her but mostly for myself.
My eyes lock with his
My mind is still locked.
I go to him and hand over the key.
Quillosophy 