I turn the knife you held
inside me now
blood dripping all over my skin,
crimsons piercing me within
the doorway once slammed closed,
now opened thin.
the once bright room I laughed in
now dark and dim.
I wonder now
it is better to stay or leave?
your fingerprints remain on the knife hilt.
and I cling onto it
to grasp onto the warmth
the tangible remnant of it.
but the hilt freezes my hands now.
and the more I hold on
the deeper the blade cuts into me -
memory is punishment
YOU ARE READING
liberation
Poetrycollection of poems and thoughts my heart and brain cut open , fragments of my soul spooled onto digital pages. With every word typed , I experience a taste of liberation
