sandpaper
you rake at
my heartstrings
until the arteries
and veins, my
net of blood
vessels, can no
longer pump on
their own
and yet, you
still yell and shriek
at me to stop
being stupid and
sensitive, as you
hold the sandpaper
in your bloodied,
cruel, ugly,
hands
YOU ARE READING
poetry
Poetrypoetry with no rhyme or rain most of these r rlly old and embarrassing but im keeping them for the lore
