The Earth settles as the moon gleams down through your open window.
You open it sometimes to feel the freeze of cold winter, or the humidity of summer. Just a little something to remind you you're alive.
Your window sill displays a set of dark blue roses, slowly crisping and flopping down to the white board your window sill is made out of.
You reach for the bedside cabinet, eyes determined and hands open to any feeling.
You extract your utensil and begin to slice all the skin you're uncomfortable in. One slice is all it takes to go wrong.
The rose petals fall down, your mind burns to ashes and you take a deep breath before your existence fades.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the ones who can't love themselves
PoetrySmall poems for the ones who have no idea how to love themselves or save themselves. I promise you're not alone. Even though everynight may seem that way when you're tranced into your set numbness. Enjoy.
