it washes away the scars left on our soul by our own evil;
for a certain time until the blood starts seeping through the thinly laid cover
like spiders slowly crawling back in, reopening the invisible wounds
making the scars deeper until the next shot of poison
the poison that can finally give us release. the miracle cure for some.
we call it alcohol
YOU ARE READING
poems of a deranged girl
Short Storyjust a couple poems that i come up with. i know there not that good but :)
