Your grip is like tar. Dark and hot, I stick to a hundred different ideas of how you should have turned out. My ribs, bones and blood are saturated as I am urged to stretch out comfortably for once. Oh the dampened grieving process. My body may heal while you aren't paying attention but I'm stubborn and drunk in feeling. You swirl it around with the tip of your finger and I can hear my glass clink. Although, I'd love to meet your lips. Travel into your head and scream at how tight it feels right now. You've got this grip on me. My heart, my drive. One by one we slowly drown in the sticky substance that resembles your black lies.
Melissa Carey is a Pagan artist from Windsor Ontario Canada. Pursuing many hobbies, she always seems to make her way back to free verse poetry. With the occasional rhyming challenge of course! She has overcome a lot in life and is definitely up for them in order to grow as an individual. A love for nature, advocacy and Hedonism. She lives life freely, with her favourite super power named intuition. Her poetry appears on NationalPoetryMonth.ca.