Don't use me as a tissue
I shall never be used
Even if I already was many times
Because I'll just wash off the bloody stains
With salty water
That drips from the corners-
Of this tissue
I'm not pure white anymore
I'm torn
You can see the white threads sticking out
On top of this colored flesh
I keep on breathing
But I can't help but feel
My lungs are broken.
I pick at my threads
Playing with the fates-
I depend on them.
My white cloth
Is checkered now
By inky darkness
So what's your move?
Mine is going forward
Because if I go back anymore
I'll be used,
Again.
YOU ARE READING
I'm Starting To Think...
Poetry...that everything can come together. It can tell us what we are. It can tell us what the meaning of everything is... If you just smile, You'll see the whole world. Now just smile. {Warning: Old. Bad. Old+Bad= Very bad.}
