You said it was the two of us going to get hurt once all of this is over.
So why are my fingers the only ones bleeding when we let go of each end of the knife, and yours are barely touched?
You tricked me into believing it's a double edged sword. When the absolute truth is, the blade has been pointing at me this entire time, and your hand is wrapped around the handle.
YOU ARE READING
Black isn't a Color ➵ poems
Poetry❝ Black isn't a Color, rather, the inability of light to reflect off. ❞ A collection of poems from the confused soul of an antisocial adolescent, who doesn't know where they belong, and where they don't.
