Fear in Three Phases

sometimes blood looks like lipstick and i can never tell the difference when i'm biting everything that is in front of of my teeth- your neck is too much in the way. your collarbones like to push furniture around and wonder what would get me to stay. the weather outside would bury me down but your teeth taste too much like bleach and i can’t kiss someone who drinks.

they invited me to play, the edgy girls with their orange backpacks and dark lipstick and hair that is meant for leaves to fall into. the edgy girls who all shared a bedroom back in college, the edgy girls tiptoeing around campus after frozen yogurt at midnight. i said no. i am too small, too frightened, too attached to my bed.

in the tight rooms and the urgent words, i find myself needing air the most and i play dead and i play gasping and i play a pity on a polaroid camera and wellness phone call- it takes me an hour and a half to cool down-
but she doesn’t get it and there's blood on the walls

By Breia Gore


  1. wow. i'm inlove with this kind of poetry. i really love this. it gives me that kind of feeling i can't quite put my finger on.

  2. I'm in love with the writing style and I love how I can grasp vivid images in my mind as I read along this piece.