You should have been here,
Wiping away hot tears.
Instead of piercing in sharp cold knives,
Relentlessly.
You should have been there,
Hand on my shoulder, willing me back to reality.
Instead of reaching into my necrotic flesh,
Barehanded.
You should have saved me,
When I trusted only your succour.
Instead of watching me drown,
Gasp and cry:
Choked by my own demons.
You shouldn't have given up,
Attempted to resuscitate,
Instead of leaving me to bleed out.
As the pool of serendipitous red
Stains our once riveting streets.
YOU ARE READING
Unfinished Paintings
PoetryA collection of my prose, poetry and epiphanies over the past couple of years. I've always loved writing and composing, but I'd never assumed anything I wrote was worth being read by anyone but myself. Writing has always been a way for my mind to co...
