Written 3/5/17
It comes
with the silence
and it leaves
with the sound.
I think I heard
your heartbeat
from six feet
underground.
Your hand reached up
and grabbed
the only flower
that I had.
Rip my flesh
from my bones,
carry me
the rest of the way home.
Expose my lungs
as my eyes roll back
and I bite my tongue.
Recall the things that
I've done in the past,
convince me now
that the pain won't last.
Make me a bouquet
and give it to me
when it's finally okay.
v.e.s.
YOU ARE READING
Cardboard Lungs
Poesía"Demons floating in my morning cereal." "Ink isn't the only thing bleeding tonight." A collection of my poetry. *I do not promote self harm or any other negative coping skills. My poetry is my outlet for preventing those actions in my own life, so I...
