Poems//Paris Grose

Wounds

It's late at night, and I'm looking for a friend,
My loneliness is driving me around the bend.
It's now early morning, looking for money to spend,
on these fixing these deep wounds that just won't mend.

These wounds that I trace,
Back too your very place,
Where the blade of your tongue cut in to me with grace,
As your burning hands that were around my neck traveled up to my cold face.

These wounds that were made,
When you had my heart in your hand that you played.
Using me as a game, for the things that you craved,
So I hid in my own mind, making it a dark, daunting cave.

These wounds that made me tough,
Although I had had enough,
And every time the dark angles in your mind made you too rough,
I would never show a tiny bit of pain, no more than a slight sough.

These wounds that will forever stain my skin,
My cold epidermis that is no longer thin,
Is now filled with the thick scar tissue from when I let your trouble in,
but now that I'm gone, I am who truly ended up with a win.
P.G

-

Authors note
wow okay so making that rhyme was really hard but I learned a new word and I think you might want to know what it means, okay so in stanza 4 in line 6 is used the term "sough" which mean a murmuring sound so I thought it's was pretty cool and that I should tell you what it means invade you don't know :)))) bye for now