My bruises are mine to prod,
My scars are mine to watch,
My scabs are mine to pick or leave alone,
My skin is mine to cut,
My body is mine to destroy.
My skin turns as blue as my eyes,
As cold as my soul,
as alone as my mind.
I'm a hopeless romantic but nobody loves me, not even me.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the dark
PoetryTrigger warning. To be polite. These are poems I've written. In all honesty not the good ones. Or maybe they are. But they're not my print published ones. I'm not that brave. :)
