She sits, curled, surrounded by darkness.
In the distance a light, an angel of purity, a child.
She, the demon, bleeds tears, and knows
She cannot touch the angel, only long to be her.
She can never touch, because she fell from the light
Or was rather pushed.
Never again will she know the kindness of the angel
Only the sharp untrust of the dark
Filled by knives of shame and guilt.
She reached for the light in the dark,
But she falls into the blades.
She thinks it now her only way out
So, she bleeds.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryMy poems have become very personal and reflect my beliefs very closely. TW - mentions of sexual assault, self-harm, thoughts of suicide and more dark themes.
