It's not about my scars.
I told you, they're works of art.
A reminder of reality, that
somehow, I still can bleed.
A reminder of my heavy cargo,
all after putting on this dumb show.
I'll remind you of who we are,
pleading for them to
mend our broken hearts.
Tearing down our padded walls,
collapsing our fatal flaws.
Forgetting what was mine.
Forgetting that I'm not fine.
Remind me of my insanity,
because I can't seem to recall
who I was before the fall.
My wrists, the itch.
Begging for the pain to switch.
The pain you feel in your soul
it really takes a toll.
Let me erase away the pain.
Instead, let your body decay.
YOU ARE READING
lost words
PoetryIf only you knew how you bring us to tears. I have since learned that you enjoy feeding off our fears. If only you knew how millions of your victims felt. And as I finally found the courage, I knelt. Looking upon the graves of the long lost souls, n...
