My hands feel the worded bruise
As I throw them up
To protect myself
Rather than pack a punch
I feel the facade
Dribble down my neck
As it all begins to
Just melt away
The blood on my wrists
Turns to solid
When I don't bother
To wipe it away
Let today feel my wrath
As I stand up
And show my sass
For what I care about
Who cares though
Not one
No one
But me
YOU ARE READING
Train station poetry
PoetryPoems written during a daily commute. From depression, Ptsd, and anxiety, to love, redemption, reflection, there is something in here for everyone. #2 in poembook (December 18-January 4) #39 in poetry (January 1- January 16)
