Blood splattered on the floor,
body beaten, bruised, and broken.
This is how you left me,
your toy...
Now you're mad cause I don't talk to you,
Well maybe it's cause I don't want to,
I'm scared of getting hurt again,
picked up and thrown out the door again,
Maybe I don't talk to you,
because of these things that you do!
I hate being your little toy,
I hate seeing your spoiled boy,
I hate you saying that I'm spoiled,
you think of my plans that you have foiled,
Well, guess what?
I'm on my way out of here,
no matter what else you may hear.
I'm running, flying, out the door,
not coming back anymore.
About the Creator
Jessica Smith
Just a college student trying to get by. I'm majoring in linguistics for my undergrad, and planning to pursue computational linguistics for a graduate degree.
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Just Sixty Seconds
Oliver sat at a cold, grey steel-covered table. He knew he was next. The longer he sat here, the more confident he knew he wouldn’t make it. His hands were tied to the chair he was sitting on, pushed up against the steel table. A small camera in the corner of the ceiling with a tiny red flashing light was the only thing he was focused on. He felt sick to the stomach. He knew he didn’t have long.
By Joshua Maggs4 days ago in Fiction
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