Insults hurled are like paper cuts,
Each word,
Another cut,
Until there's nothing left,
But the barren flesh of your soul,
And you see some pseudo parts to your being,
And you cry, as that ugly person they tell you to be,
As that is all you see.
Is this how humanity is supposed to be?
YOU ARE READING
Stories between the lines: A collection of Poems
ŞiirThe world is what you perceive it to be. These are short poems and haikus which I have been inspired to write by what has happened to me and those around me, giving you an insight to how I perceive the world around me. I do cover some self-harm and...
