Residue

There's something under my skin
Something grainy, irritating
I can't get to it, make it go away
Want to cut it out

Feels like him, still there, still taking what's mine alone to give
A pressure behind my neck
An invisible yoke I can't escape

Can't get rid of the grip, can't get away
Can't rub away the imprint of his touch
These are the moments I despair
These, the moments that he wins

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: grainy

Dead Giveaway

How easy was it for you? Did you ever once falter or regret as you took

the multitude of actions that led to that day on the sidewalk

in front of your restaurant (where I worked too, helping to make your food a success?)

You seemed so casual that day – that day I finally knew something was up – happy, even.

I was intense, laser-focused (because that is where I go when I am terrified)

but inside I felt like my hair was on fire, my gut was being ripped apart,

as I pressed you for details of who, what, and for how long.

(Really? That blonde you had me wait on the other day?)

You were so cool, so blasé, as you easily dropped the bombs that exploded my world apart.

For a long while I would look back, wish I had slapped you – said or done something –

to wipe that tiny smile at the corner of your mouth right off your guilty face.

Now I know that that little smile was not you being smug,

it was because you knew what a coward you were,

and you knew that now, I knew it too.

 

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: casual