A newer poem

At some point I am going to have to start writing again properly, but it’s been a long time. Anyway, here’s another of my old ones from the past 13 years or so (c) Becky Deans


We lay on the bed like cold cutlery,

Jumbled up, shiny with anger, not touching

You were all sharp edges, hurt feelings. I was cowered,

Like a spoon staring into itself, seeing a horror.

A fork with its prongs all bent, not even able to be sharp to itself.

You bit a serrated tooth of guilt into me. Tried to

Twist it. Like a knife through butter all the strength I had built up

Slipped away from me.


About beckydeans

I've always been a writer one way or the other.
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