I ripped myself open tonight -- to see the defect that seems to steal your attention.
I cut out parts that blocked your way into my soul, but severed the wrong threads of myself.
Scars have a way of telling stories -- and not everyone enjoys holding a book by the cover -- so I took my heart from its hollow cage I had already sledge hammered -- with precision of course -- and held it in my hand as an offering --
just to learn that you weren't religious and your donation box was already full of flesh that held no self inflicting bruises from trying to mold themselves into a person you could love.
Just answer me this --
Are you decent with stitch work?
YOU ARE READING
Self-reflections, confessions, studied subjects, and soul spilling words that sit on the page, but hope to reach out and coil around those that chance a peek at them. If you like what you see, please leave some feedback and let me know. If you have...