i saw you holding hands with her.
it was then that i knew
you still had the scar from the night you pressed a knife to your throat
that carried sounds
like silence seeps
into hallowed caves,
but when you screamed i heard the octave change,
you couldn't leave the ghost of her for me
and still your words
hold me so softly
why can't i just leave
YOU ARE READING
horribly beautiful ✔️
Poetrypeople write about things that do not happen. they will romanticize this world in hopes of filling themselves up. they write like their words are food. but i have always written to empty myself completely. i will romanticize feeling nothing. jun...
