Every step stings.
Wasps, probing their stingers into my flesh.
You couldn't penetrate me with your love, but they have no difficulty pricking my skin.
Their poison enters my bloodstream, colours my veins dark, pumping insecurity and jealousy and self-hatred to my heart.
YOU ARE READING
wasp stings, broken butterfly wings
Poesiaa short collection of poems exploring brokenness; sometimes the weight of our own emotions gets too heavy. 'i know where the butterflies go, where they flutter to once they've completed their blossom...' ~votes/comments/feedback very much appreciat...
