he spoke.
he's different now, but not all there.
but it was always my fault, i shouldn't have run when he pushed away.
the last time i held him was blurry, it might've been, quite literally the last ever time; it's all my fault.
he was never the monster, it was the creature staring back at me in the mirror.
i never deserved to shed those drops of liquid grief; i deserve the blood on my hands, the blame.
he is the victim, he saved himself from me, it was never the opposite.
the shame burns as it stains my skin, the burden i carry will never counter the pain i deserve.
YOU ARE READING
Tangles of the Mind
PoetryAn array of poems and excerpts from a soul finding their journey through complications; searching for themself.
