Rum and Coke.

Wed, 01/31/2018 - 12:07 -- Locke1

She heard his ragged breathing, but there was no one on the other end of the line.

It was another voicemail, just one of the many he sent late last night.

She felt the all too familiar vice on her chest, simply saved it before finishing the rest of it.

She couldn’t bear to hear what happened but couldn’t bear to lose his voice.


She waited for a text under his name, but the phone was silent all morning.

Through classes and conversations, she peaked at the empty screen.

Nerves shot inside her, as she tried to swallow her fears.

Had he really been injured this time?


Late at night, the phone buzzed and the screen lit up, a call coming in, from him.

She grabbed it in record time, desperate to hear of how he was.

He was drunk, again, she heard loud conversations in the back like usual.

She tried to mask her disappointment, only asking if he was safe.


He wooed her, apologized for the night before. Promised he’d really fix it this time.

She had a smile in her voice, but her soul was torn from the broken promises before. 

His voice lured her to sleep, singing his promises and his love for her.

She knew the nice mask wouldn’t last, she gripped tightly to it while she could.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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