The words spray out of their mouths like bullets, cutting through the soul until there is nothing left, but an endless void of pain and misery.
She laughs at day and cries at night. Lodging out in an attempt to improve something that can not be perfected.
Her heart is strong , but still it reacts as glass, shattering into sharp peices, the shards cutting through the skin of her sacred body. The love of her curves had wasted away, the radiant smile that she used to posses.
If only she knew that her body was a temple, to be praised by many.
Now it was my turn to take the bullet for her.
YOU ARE READING
I Preach
PoetryThese aren't poems but declarations of the beauty of "her". In the age of ones beauty being stolen from them and claimed as their own it's harder for "her" to stand out of the crowd. "He" kisses her scars which were once wounds. Skin pierced by the...
