Sitting rigidly on the wooden bench,
you smoothed out the collar of your
creaseless suit jacket as you stared
at the streaks of purples and reds
slashed across a setting sky.
You dragged the palm of your hand
along the stem of a rose
that was aimlessly speckled
with sharp thorns
as if to remind yourself
that you could feel pain,
even though you did not shed
a single tear when you heard
what happened to her that night.
Dampness never stained your cheeks,
but you still hung your head low,
swiping at nothing.
Your palm is now dripping hot,
red blood from the lacerations
that would eventually become scars,
though you do not seem to care.
You believed that you deserve to hurt
because she no longer could.
YOU ARE READING
Euphony
Poetry⌲a collection of poetry There is not a collective theme that I would place all of these poems under. I write and publish them whenever an idea comes to mind, therefore updates may not be consistent. Poems are also in order from newest to oldest. Th...
