Hold that blade,
covered in rust,
a bloodstain on the edge.
Set your demons free for a while,
feel the rush of relief that goes through every pulsing vein in your fragile body,
as you hear nothing but silence,
the voices stopping for a minute,
an hour,
a day at most if you're strong enough. Stare at your reflection in the broken glass mirror because you're nowhere near the girl you want to be.
It pierces through your skin and you glow with life,
with scarlet red blood running down your body.
Skin scarred,
limbs bruised,
sorry I couldn't do better,
I wasn't born a warrior.
YOU ARE READING
Bits and Pieces
Poetry{GREAT THANK YOU'S TO MY BABY: FARAH (the_author15) FOR MAKING ME THIS DOPE COVER}. Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, because in...
