Have you seen my soul, dear?
Or my wrists, perhaps?
Both scarred,
With memories of you.
I suppose not,
Or maybe so.
Your not here to tell.
Please don't tell a soul, dear,
That I'm broken up inside,
All twisted and blue.
Please don't talk about my soul, dear.
The words are too true.
-R.Blackwell
YOU ARE READING
Stretch Marks
PoetryI'm slowly getting better. I write things here because it clears my head. Read it if you wish. Just a bunch of horrible poetry. The gray areas are hard. so i'll write through them "Starry skies and butterflies are all it takes to fall in love" ~R.Bl...
