A world of style and elegance - lady

Autumn's Whisper

I’ve given a lot of abuse over the years to my kneecaps; not in the sense that I sit on my floor in prayer, it’s because I’ve always been crawling towards something that never wanted me. I’ve spent so much time on my knees that the skin around them is perpetually a darker shade than the rest of me. It almost feels like a branding; two years ago I almost dislocated my knee. I remember the sound of a cracking I remember the intense fear of having to think I would have to go to the hospital — hospitals are just lit morgues. People are attending funerals that they don’t know yet. Your knees always cracked when you bent and I think I’ll remember the sound of the space in between your bones forever. I remember the bow of your head as you kneel down to worship me in your own way. It’s strange how something so simple if it’s been out of place or shifted is agonizing; and you don’t think about it until you damage it, much like memories that you try and avoid like paper cuts but even when they’re healed, white skin around it is a reminder. I find myself fixated on people’s kneecaps lately and almost medical fascination, some kind of ritual that tries to call you back. But you have changed your number and I will never hear the cracking of your kneecaps again.

I’ve given a lot of abuse over the years to my kneecaps; not in the sense that I sit on my floor in prayer, it’s because I’ve always been crawling towards something that never wanted me. I’ve spent so much time on my knees that the skin around them is perpetually a darker shade than the rest of me. It almost feels like a branding; two years ago I almost dislocated my knee. I remember the sound of a cracking I remember the intense fear of having to think I would have to go to the hospital — hospitals are just lit morgues. People are attending funerals that they don’t know yet. Your knees always cracked when you bent and I think I’ll remember the sound of the space in between your bones forever. I remember the bow of your head as you kneel down to worship me in your own way. It’s strange how something so simple if it’s been out of place or shifted is agonizing; and you don’t think about it until you damage it, much like memories that you try and avoid like paper cuts but even when they’re healed, white skin around it is a reminder. I find myself fixated on people’s kneecaps lately and almost medical fascination, some kind of ritual that tries to call you back. But you have changed your number and I will never hear the cracking of your kneecaps again.