My heart bleeds crimson
Or so they say
How can they know
When they've never felt pain?
My veins say otherwise
Blue, purple and green
How can they know what they've never seen
Tell me that inside I'm not as broken as I seem?
That deep down where it counts
Everyone is the same
We all know that isn't so
So if I were to take
A sharp, gleaming blade
And plunge the tip deep into my chest
Up to the hilt in my soft, freckled flesh
Would the blood streaming out
As I pulled the knife out
Be as crimson as they seem to think?
Or would I bleed black
To show all of my sins
Or maybe not at all
If I don't have a heart?
Illusions are not always what they seem
So if I'm not who you see
Who you think I've become
Then how can you know the colour of my blood?
YOU ARE READING
With Broken Wings (2013)
Poetry"Take these broken wings and learn to fly again." This is my own personal story of overcoming my demons and my grief. I define my recovery. ι'ℓℓ вє уσυя ѕнσυℓ∂єя тσ cяу ση, уσυя яσcк ωнєη уσυ'яє ησт ѕтяσηg ι'ℓℓ вє уσυя нєαят ωнєη ιт'ѕ вяσкєη, му α...
