Drip drop, blood spilled on the counter.
No tears just blood.
Dry eyes that were lost.
Staring into the cuts.
I didn't go far enough.
Face pale, no emotions left.
For feeling are what lead to this mess.
Maybe one day I'll learn how to shed this pain.
Without breaking skin.
But as of right now, it's easier this way.
The pain of sharing my thoughts, the looks on their faces, it's too much to take.
For now I'll rip my skin open to releases my sins.
As cuts thickened, widened, they grew deeper.
My memories went thin.
-BM
YOU ARE READING
Late Night Poet - My Bleeding Heart
PoetryMy bleeding heart - part two of the collection of A late night poet. Here lies the stories of a bleeding heart through heart break and loss. The story and journey continues in poetry.
