She used to never understand how someone could be so broken.
Broken enough they'd turn to self harm as their release.
She never understood.
Until, one day, it was her.
It was her sprawled out on her bed,
then pacing.
It was her
sweating,
crying,
gasping for air.
It was her dragging the blade across her wrist.
It was all her.
She never understood.
But now,
it was like a second nature.
YOU ARE READING
you killed my flower
Poetryi hate the way your eyes can manipulate me. poems about his eyes and other things.
