Questions for the Smoother Stone
Or, it's two in the morning and I can't stop wondering.
Why you wore armor made of polished stones? I’ll never ask.
Why it resembled chains is another notion I’ll never bother you for.
Why are they hot? Why do they sear any skin brave enough to inch near it?
Why do you cry when you know they don’t hurt you until you hear the sobs from the outside?
What makes you forget that they ever burn me?
Do my attempts to cool them only melt the steel into another god awful temperature?
Higher than the one before? Higher than the time it takes to watch the wounds on my hands turn into thick scars?
Where does it end?
When do you stop skipping stones across me and tell me that my waters aren’t any better than the ones that swallow yours whole?
Why do I keep yours on the surface like they haven’t stirred currents that choke me?
Why do you scream apologies at me while you choke me?
When did your fingers grown brains of their own and wrap around my neck?
Why don’t I care?
Why does hope still scope through the fleshy pink fabric that clings to my bones?
Why don’t my bones protect the heart you want?
How many of them to I have to break before the pity subsides and it becomes what we both want?
What about that isn’t fair?
Then again, what about that is?
About the Creator
Sydney Pomrening
Columbia College Chicago freshman for creative writing just doing what she loves.
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