Gore.
Red, crimson, blood is its color.
Skin to meat to bone.
I love it red.
I swallow my meds.
I can feel my bones breaking and rearranging.
and my flesh becoming goop.
It's beautiful. I'm beautiful.
I'm red, my favorite color.
and so are my scars.
YOU ARE READING
Stress Reliever Stories/Poems (Or just for fun)
Poetrythis is where I type in poems/stories to relive stress/dread/other pressuring feelings. Trigger Warning!: Topics such as trauma, self-harm, disease, etc will be discussed (but not all stories will be like this)
