COMPLETE ✔️
Highest ranking: #175 in Poetry! (3/15/17)
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Where there is mourning, there is also hope.
Despite the struggles and the losses we mourn-mental, physical, or emotional-good can come out of it.
But even when there seems to be not hope as a...
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Tearing at my cold purple skin Are your shattered fingernails From your years of inevitablesin. The touch of you is like atrocious scales.
Cringing at the vocalization And the utterance of your heartbreak. I am a prisoner to violent affection And each day my time you take.
Dress me up like your doll And paint me down like a Van Gough. But everyone knows the truth written on the wall And I am just a counterfeit you've sold.
Do I dare break free from the shower of darkness And the pure hatred you've brewed inside? You call me baby girl, but you lie before you confess. On the line is your thick and unruly pride.
Strands of red highlight my hair And lines of liquid are in my soul. The moment you caught me I was not prepared For the life under a bridge as your pet troll.
Wild and untamed is the mind you possess. Love is what you use to describe this blasphemy, And soft words you use to caress. But that is okay—
