Pillow Tears

Garrett H.
I walk in the room and ask,

What's wrong?

The room is quiet and dead.

Her face is buried in its soft embrace,

Scarlet, and drippings from her holes

And ducts shimmer fresh.

Nothing, she says.

Nothing, she repeats.

Flipping the pillow, she leaves the space,

Dead and quiet like a perfect winter's night,

The kind so engulfing and void of air

That nothing has weight.

She turns sideways to escape me

And keeps walking.

But no, I'm wrong.

Sadly I realize this is no winter's night,

Not in here, no, not now.

I walk to her bed and flip the cushion:

Two sorrowed splotches stare back.

Published by Garrett H.

Well hi there! I'm Garrett H. I've liked to write forever and hope to keep getting better at it. I have some information articles, some stories, and some poems. Any comments would be GREATLY appreciated! Tha...  View profile

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