You are my scar.
One of many,
yet you are by far the most prominent.
You lie on my heart,
cleaving it down the middle.
I have phantom pains,
a cracking in my chest that comes at the mere thought of you.
A stabbing if I look at the scar.
A shattering if I try to remember.
You are puckered and white,
throbbing with each pound of my blood,
constraining the muscles of my body
so each pulse come out weaker than the last.
You are a scar
and you are my scar
and you are the epitome of torture along my veins.
But I wouldn't want it any other way,
so I may never forget the smile you held
as you dug your blade into my chest.
YOU ARE READING
When The Blood Ran Black
PoetryWhen my demon decided it wanted out, there was nothing I could do to stop it. I could only watch as bloodied claws pierced my skin and shadows leaked through my eyes in black teardrops. It wanted out, and I was content to let it roam. >>>&g...
