I can remember the sound of my burning flesh,
as you touched me with you hands again.
There was a sense of comfort when you seared my skin,
almost as if it only existed to turn to mesh.
And if it ever began to mend,
you'd burn me once again.
Her hands were like water, smooth and healing.
She watched me struggle, crying and screaming,
begging to be loved.
There was a sense of dread as she washed away all of my pain,
almost as if it only existed to keep me tame.
And if it ever began to return,
she'd heal me once again.
I can remember the sound of the restless waves,
as she didn't let me ebb away again.
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YOU ARE READING
A Toast, to Us
PoetryThis, is a toast to us. For all of us who have been beaten into the ground, and refused to stay down. We are powerful. ---------------------------- Poems for those who have suffered for far too long.
