The Day Before Yesterday
2003-11-12 @ 10:18 p.m.
Take me home, please, take me home.
I saw as he shook and clumbsily wiped the tears from his face with the backs of his hands, smearing the wetness across his cheeks. Hair stuck to his face, and he seemed so broken.
My little china doll with perfectly pink lips, quivering with each unexpected sob. Take me home, he whispered, and my vision fogged with a guilt that seeped beneath my skin like an acid.
I did this.
I made this.
I shattered another one of those moments. I created this. I birthed this. I am responsible.
Little boy with perfectly pouted lips, and auburn hair across his procelain face. Big brown eyes brimming with tears, and he looked, longingly, at me. He looked for a glimmer of regret. There was none.
There is now.
Bruises across his back now tell of the story told when he got home. Take me home, he pleaded, and when he did he became storm.
Naked, on the white tiled floor of a bathroom, wet and shaking from cold, he's lost his way. He's broken.
I've shattered my little china doll. Perfectly pouted lips now dust. I've killed the beauty I once took for granted. Poor little boy, he'll never be the same again.
Poor little boy...
I regret it all.
everything © Claudia (2003-2008)