I bite my lips
Unil they bleed
To feel the pain
And taste the scarlett
As it leaves
*
I tear at my skin,
At not existent blemishes
Until they begin
To exist
In such a way that they
Turn a rather alarming shade of red
Until the point when I know
That they will become scars
*
Maybe it is easier
To make myself
Bleed and
Scar
Than to recognize
The same
Wounds
Created by
Others
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Mine
PoetryJust some poems and lines that I've thought of or will think up. -when I start writing, I can go on for hours because my mind is on overdrive and nothing else matters
