She was beautiful for the scars she left.
The were times when the world was closing in on her.
When everything was grey in her life.
So she picked up a blade and pierced paper, letting the blood spill radiantly.
Her pain was in poetry, she could never slit wrist, she slaughtered paper, seared words of such depth.
Made the paper feel her pain,
Then showed everyone.
YOU ARE READING
Afternoon Thoughts
PoetryHer head felt light in that moment, She felt as if was drunk on starlight, Her bare toes grazing dewy grass, Breathing in the sweet scent that was finally her.
