my initials
carved into already bruised skin
battered by her own harsh hands and jagged words
now my being resides partially in the skin of another
my memory - forever trapped
not in beauty and realizations I have forced upon this world
rather, paled skin
my every mistake she has become aware of
to be scarred over
kept pristinely in a prison with bars unbreakable
no lock
but a key hangs outside of the door
the key to freedom - or so she thinks
if she can not cross the hurdles of the pain
they repeat, "just get over it"
though she will not erase the pain she has endured
for I myself am encased within the skin of her
she who waited till the night grew dark blue
she who offered me the flag of surrender to exhale serenely
she who I thought to be of sound conscience
she
has carved my name beneath all seven layers of her skin
she
had let my name let free a deep red ooze
she, who I do not control
has chosen this.
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YOU ARE READING
breathe {poetry}--
Poetrythis is not poetry it is emotion in its purest form; words