Churn, churn, rumble, surge.
Words streamed out and crashed into me, like waves against a rocky shore.
But I am not made of stone. Words, unlike water, don’t simply wash away.
Everything changes.
Even the stone, over time, gets worn down.
Churn, churn, rumble, surge.
My nerves are frayed. Sleep dances out of reach.
At least now I know. The façade is gone, the truth revealed. Moving forward, life will be different.
The battle’s over. You won. What was gained?
I’m off balance.
Like the rock hit hard enough, things may come tumbling down.
Courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Want to join Friday Fictioneers? Hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, a photo prompt is posted on Wednesdays and the inlinkz opens for writers to share their stories in 100 words or less. Click the link below to read more and add your story!
Thanks for reading and happy trails!
The Mom Who Runs: 
Sounds like a bad relationship is now rightly over, allowing a new life/story to be told. Mike
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Thanks for reading and your thoughts, Mike! Maybe over… or maybe over as they know it?
Happy trails!
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I really like how you compare the erosive power of water to that of the onslaught of nasty words. One word, said thoughtlessly, might not hurt as much, but the patient repetition of insults cuts deeply and can’t be healed easily. Wonderful poem.
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Thanks for your read and kind words! I agree!
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Sticks and stones will wash away but words will always remain with me
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Thanks, neilmacdon for reading and your comment. The hurt of words does tend to linger, doesn’t it?
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Sounds like a rather rocky time in your character’s life. The transitions can be the hardest times of all. Nicely told!
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Thanks for reading and your comment, Amy! They are indeed some of the toughest times. Here’s hoping she’s comes out the other side stronger. 🙂
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