&&.
i don't know if the wound in my kneecap is more painful than what you're experiencing but i guess, yours is heavier to carry.
i've heard the chaos in your mind. i'm no mind-reader at all but i heard the roars, the shouts, the piercing noises, and the deep whispers in your silence. i'm not sure if i make sense but i hope i do.
sweet inoccent aching kid, you don't have to cover your wounds with clothes when you're with me because i can still smell the blood escaping and i can hear your heart pounding loudly, screaming that it wanted to stop beating. you're not good at pretending but you're good on taking everything secretly and i fvking hate you for that.
tell me your thoughts and i'll tell you how brave you are. show me your scars and i'll clothe it with my embrace. bring me to your storm and i'll be with you until the sun comes up. run to me when you have nowhere to run and i'll take you somewhere safer. call me when the waves in your sea are scaring you and i'll teach you how to ride onto it.
this tiny wound in my kneecap i got from my bicycle is nothing to compare in your skin, flesh, and bones full of holes but it will always be a pleasure to hold your hand while you're trying to heal yourself. know that i am always here, sweet.
YOU ARE READING
Proses with its Roses
PoetryWe all have pain inside us, inside those softhearted yet tough hearts and it's on us on how to express it, how to ease it, and how to control it. Painters grab their brushes to express. Singers grab their microphones to express. Dancers grab their s...
