I immortalized the idea of being with you,
To hold your hand and know that I was your world.
You filled my hands with honey and flowers
Until the only thing I could think of was you.
My days were spent waiting for you to message me, it's like all my problems were washed away.
But soon the honey in my hands turned to blood oozing from my own wounds.
But soon you stopped looking at me the way you used to,
You took the flowers you placed so nice and ripped the petals off of them
Until they too were bleeding and crying for you to stop,
Instead what I thought was immortal turned out to be a short ride of discomfort,
I was waiting for the ride to stop, for the pain to end, for the fear of you to go away.
But it turned out my blood-filled hands that were once honey and flowers scratched at your grave you buried for yourself.
YOU ARE READING
The Song of Whispers
Poetrya collection of poems written by me and my friends. TW: suicide, self-harm, EDs, Grooming, Rape, and topics similar. I am not responsible for anything that might happen to you during or after you read this. You have been warned.
