I threw that bottle against the wall.
How was I to know that it was glass?
How was I to know you were standing
Right
Fucking
There,
Right
Where
The glass flew?
Maybe I should've been hit.
I threw it,
Didn't I?
So, I should be the one to suffer.
I should be scarred.
But you don't
See
That I got scarred too.
Glass doesn't all fly to one place.
I did get hit.
In the heart.
So while you
Bleed
Out,
With your wounded wrists,
I
Bleed
In,
Losing
Myself
For you.
YOU ARE READING
Life and Its Discrepancies
PoesíaThis book is filled with poems from every range of my emotions, from when I'm super depressed to when I can't be happier. I don't know how long I'll keep this thing going, just know that it covers a bunch of personal things that may be considered a...
