no beauty could be found in busted lips or broken bones.
hideous with all righteous self.
blood dripping out of the gash, bones popping out against skin, pulling it tight and exciting painful nerves.
nothing was pretty at all about busted lips.
maybe it was the twisted beauty that one could find in it all-
that bones show how broken one could become with precaution.
and busted lips could happen because of improper treatment.
maybe it is a sick irony that entices us towards the broken pieces of the puzzle- the ones that don't seem to fit.
maybe inside, we're all broken and trying to find out
how our pieces fit.
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Poetryearth → purgatory → heaven // hell ↓ illusion my poem compilation from the past year ♤ lowercase intended ♤
