Dear Esther,
I'm studying my damaged flesh;
My forlorn skin
Every inch,
Is painted with bruises and cuts,
Screaming of my crumbling heart;
The shattered past
I call them battle scars;
Tragic memoirs each,
That seemingly shriek,
Of the hooligans that clang in my head;
The people who hurt me,
Wanting me dead
Darkness will soon triumph,
Chanting in valour,
That they have taken over me,
And once again,
Making me bleed...
Quinn
YOU ARE READING
shards of the heart
Poetry❝the scars that screamed of revolutions inside her head and the shards that made up her heart were things that no one saw.❞ suffering from a terrifying eating disorder and from a shattered home, quinn's greatest tormentor is imperfection. her world...
