Sores.
Scars.
Cuts from the horrid, haunting past.
Have I ruined the outside of my temple?
God gave me a shell -
I've ruined the outside of it,
completely covering myself in excess flaws.
The skin that I have is monstrous
(because of me. Myself.)
It is not pure and pretty.
It has lost its natural softness
that attracts love like a magnet.
Even my makeup indicates a desperate
attempt to the hide the permanent ugliness in which I created.
Will anyone ever love my outer shell?
Will they run?
The answer is right in front of me:
I've denied my outer shell.
I ran away from myself -
or, at least I tried to.
Beauty:
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YOU ARE READING
Dear Suicide...
Poetry(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
