The scars that spread across my wrist open up again.
Thorns
Start to embed in the now opened scars,
making the
dark colored blood drop down
from my cold fingertips,
To the ground.
And yet, you still look at me like everything
Is okay.
YOU ARE READING
Air Bubbles And Paper Cuts
PoesiaJust some things I never had the guts to say out loud. (Updated daily??)
