every time I'm breaking down from the inside out and my heart and mouth are screaming because you've cut me open and left me to bleed myself dry on the floor and each time you do it hurts more and more and my eyes are tired from crying and my stomach hurts because of the stupid butterfly drugs but-
. . .
I begin to wonder, as you finally serenade me with affection
long after I have breathed my last difficult breath, and hours of having stared in my own weak reflection;
are you just being nice or are you just really, really evil?
because it's bringing me back to life.
but in your firm grip,
you've still got your knife.
I can only muster out another cry for help
as you slit me open once more,
again and again,
on your cold floor.
But I guess you've always had a thing for pain, right?
—
hey I'm in pain at (almost) 3am again so here's another angsty weird poem 👍
YOU ARE READING
Venting In Verses
PoetryI vent here through my own poetry. The first few pieces aren't that good but I'm keeping them up to track my progress. So... enjoy, I suppose!
