He was sharp, every finger he placed on my fragile body cut and broke me
Every kiss ended in blood and bruising
Even my heart became torn apart by his paper cuts
But then it stopped,
My wounds healed after each bandaid of affection
Your soft hands as delicate as tissue paper hold my torn creations
We have never been so mended
YOU ARE READING
Ghost in the snow
PoetryA small poetry collection The words I always wanted to say and so on. ---