• revolvermouth 5w

    Stained

    A small fleck of ink on your shirt.
    Hardly noticeable as it gleams, still intact
    You flick it off but there it is. The tiniest shadow.
    And it spreads.

    Wider across the landscape of your being
    Tainting friendships and academics and sleep and tiny basic functions.
    Then it begins to spill

    Darker, faster, drips to places before you can catch it and digs roots
    Stains you can't scrub off with the bottles of vodka and floods of tears.

    It grows and corrodes places you didn't know existed.
    Until you reach for them and find rust.
    When was the last time went to the beach? You used to every week.
    ©revolvermouth