//Trigger Warning//
//Self Harm//
The tip of my stomach sparked a match of wasps that begged to erupt through my throat.
My hands trembled and the tips of my fingers light blue and cold.
My lips, cracked and coated in a soothing shade of intense gold.
I feel everything. I throw my fists to wall, cracking my knuckles in the process.
the blade that takes it all away creept to me whispering my name.
I put the razor to my flesh and let it dance freely
YOU ARE READING
Metanoia
Poetry"YOU LEFT BRUISES I CANNOT ERASE WITH FOUNDATION THIS TIME" These are just really shitty old poems tbh But i hope you guys are well c: © [Ranked #467 || poetry] [[Completed]]
