Shouts echo down the corridor of a home,
interrupting the peaceful slumber of a child who
laments the quiet they once had when they were
embraced by love and warmth from those voices;
never discarded or chastised, but now
cruel to the touch, lacking sanctuary and safety, the
enemy to innocence.
About the Creator
Amanda Starks
Fantasy writer, poet, and hopefully soon-to-be novelist who wants to create safe spaces to talk about mental health. Subscribe to my free newsletter at www.amandastarks.com for updates!
RE:SURGENCE now available for download!
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More stories from Amanda Starks and writers in Poets and other communities.
Our Song
Evening has given way to night. Gently, I settle next to you on the comfortable, old love seat and reach for your hand. You snatch it away, again. It cuts me to the quick, but I hide the pain, understanding that the reaction is but part of your demented state. Since the accident, your presence here in our cozy home has been clouded by a haze I can't see. Nevertheless, I feel the frigidity of your expressions and it serves as an excruciating reminder of the immeasurable distance between us.
By Dana Crandell2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
This is yeah, Poppy put it so well...heartbreaking. I felt this to my core...written so eloquently and given the depth and sensitivity it deserves. Well done.
This is utterly heartbreaking but so well written
Beautifully written.