The beautiful goth

It was winter

I was 13

on a school excursion

in the city

the light rain had soaked

through my furry

school jumper –

chilling to the bone.

Sitting on the bus

alone and awkward

I gazed out the window

and spotted

a goth.

She was standing

on the street

in a crowd

of business people


to cross the road –

umbrella in her hand

wearing a black trenchcoat

sprayed with mist

from the rain


the night sky –

she looked cozy.


Her face

was white

as a cadaver

and eyes

pitch black.

A bandage

covered her wrist

I supposed

she’d cut herself –

I’d thought

about trying.


She turned her head

and locked eyes

with mine

at length

I felt she could see

my soul

tears welled my eyes

as we gazed

into each other

she raised her hand

as a gesture

without waving

and did not insult

with a smile

a plain, solemn dead like countenance

as if she knew

what was in store

for me.


It was one of the deepest

emotional connections

I’ve ever had.

























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