Reality is needles. Thorns and spines tearing at my flesh, marring my dreams with black sand and coal. Its coarse, grating my bones into dirt, between fingers it crumbles and fades, like all things.
Have you ripped what you need from me? You see a light in me that caught your eye. It's a novelty to begin with. It's beauty and innocence, it's all and nothing.
The tide changes, pulls me under and grips tight. You are the ropes that hold me beneath the surface, writhing and screaming (nobody ever seems to hear me).
I am the ache and the reason until it drowns you. Until what caught your eye becomes a burden; a flaw. Not something beautiful, not battle scars to be cherished.
I will become ugly, like I always do. And left behind will be everything I ever cared for, in ashes.
To be washed away on open waves. Now, they're as bitter as I have ever been.
YOU ARE READING
trigger points.
PoetryA collection of my original poetry/prose from 2006 onwards. Warnings: these poems deal with mental illness, including mentions of self harm, suicide, emotional anguish and abuse. Please do not read if you might be triggered by such content.
