A Journal of the Arts
Issue 18- Spring 2019
By Rivers Lewis
Blood trickles down my thighs slowly,
The dark red fluid reminds me of the wine I drank earlier
It was pinot noir, I remember.
He said it was his favorite, and it would be mine, too.
I just smile and take the glass and sip it eagerly,
It’s bitter. The acid hits my tongue and I hate it, but I drink anyway.
It’ll make him happy.
My heart beats slowly, almost like I am dying.
Thoughts race through my mind and escape me.
I am hot and cannot breathe.
Maybe I am dying.
I close my eyes, just for a moment – to see if I am really dying,
and then I wake up.
You can read more by clicking here.
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By Sam Nski