She was fire.
She had burnt me in more ways than one,
And she shattered my heart.
My heart is full of tire tracks,
I'm dying just to get back
Because I am worth so much
But I can only see that which I lack.
Thank you.
Thanks to her,
To me,
I can feel I'm dying
Slowly.
She's slipping
Morosely.
Her bullets grazed me,
Mostly,
Closely.
My flesh is covered in bruises,
Scrapes,
Cuts,
Scars.
My friends weren't worried,
Afraid of labels
"Nosy."
My hands are dripping blood
Because to her,
I was never enough.
YOU ARE READING
Rainfall in May
PoetryA growing collection of recent poems with varying styles and subjects. I apologize for any errors, as this was uploaded from my mobile device.
