Announcement: The results of Wingword Poetry Competition have been declared.


Bhavika Totlani

It was him again, I saw in my den
but then it wasn't the first time.
He held my hand and pulled me close, hands moving under my clothes,
I could feel his fragile fingers, tender and warm but like a stranger's.
Caught my waist and held me tight with all the might and ready to fight,
Hands held tight, with a slight bite.
But the fragile fingers became wickedly stronger, the tender touch became an awful much,
And before I knew I was off the cliff, still looking at him with hopeful eyes, looking at those pretty eyelashes, a beast rising up from the ashes.
I woke up lost and adrift, with murky eyes, and a slight rift, seemed exhausted, couldn't process the lucid vice.
Came back to reality, but with a tinge of insanity.

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