he looked at me as i was sitting close to him,
glanced at my head, then down at my arms and hands,
"don't ever think about doing it again," he said in such a serious tone.
"do what?" i asked innocently.
"hurting yourself. slicing your palms. don't even think about doing it in places you think i cannot see," he said, with 'places' pertaining to my body.
i smiled.
even i cannot see the slices i have done to hurt myself because they're all in my heart, bleeding out as tears that stain my face no amount of wiping from the back of my hands can remove.
YOU ARE READING
a hurricane of blues | poetry book 2 ✔
Poésie[ poetry and prose book 2 ] ❝you're so good at comforting others but who's comforting you?❞ a shelf of poems and proses containing the chaos and pain of heartache, loneliness, anger, grief, and sadness. s t a r t e d : f e b r u a r y 2 0 2 1 e n d...
