Wire.
There is barbed wire coiled around my lungs.
Every prick, a memory of you.
With each inhale,
My breath is restricted.
Through exhale,
Such torment corrupts my thoughts.
Blackness swelters,
Engulfing me,
Shrouding my vision with shades of gray.
My brain mutilates from the paucity of oxygen,
as I am deprived of my consciousness.
Yet through it all, I still love you.
YOU ARE READING
We Called it Love.
PoetryA collection of tales written by a depressed poet. Inspired by the boy who promised he'd never break her. These are the faults in my heart.
