If I were to stand upon rocks,
Yelling across oceans.
Recalling the knife you drove into my heart,
I would scream of betrayals.
With tears freshly streaming,
drowning my broken cries out.
I would tell our world of a blade,
So excruciating and frigid.
As you penetrated into my outer skin.
Painting an abundance of falsehoods,
Along the skin I bear.
Pleasing my ears,
with a promise containing evermore love.
Your breath wavering on my neck.
As I whispered for you to drive the knife inward,
Wishing scars to formulate at your will.
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.
