The broken glass that digs into my skin like claws. Is the same glass I stared into every morning wondering why I never felt like myself.
My face was never mine, my hair the same. My body a mere trade off. It's as if god gave me all their spare parts, instead of what I needed.
I feel like I'm stuck in the other side of the glass. As if my reflection is really me, and that I'll never truly know what I was meant to look like.
Maybe I'm just not supposed to know.
The glass releases and clatters against tile. I stare down for a moment, the red pours as if it's in a desperate attempt to escape my body.
It's as if all my innards want to escape. Even it wants nothing to do with this body I've been given.
YOU ARE READING
Sickening Poetry
PoésieJust a poem book, mostly small, short poems. Maybe a big poem here and there but This is just for fun. Nothing serious.
