"throw fine red rose petals
to me instead
i'm tired of the rocks they throw
to hit my head."
they enjoy watching her
covered in thorns
its pricks slitting
her skin open and torn.
an invisible knife it seems, slicing
through her veins
shots fired in different directions
and lanes
pushing her at an edge
she's already standing at
her mind gladly obliged—
the whispers stopped at last.
YOU ARE READING
intricate skies
Poetrysaltwater splattered on these blank pages while she still bleeds.
