My reflection appears in black mirrors.
There are bruises on her
fragile throat and elbows.
There are bald spots on
her scalp.
Blood is pouring from
claw marks and burns
on her forearms.
She stumbles around
with tears locked in her eyelashes.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
There's no response.
YOU ARE READING
Birds in Glass Castles
PoetryMy collection of poems through the last few years in some of their rawest forms; more steppingstones of my journey as a writer.
