As you plunged your knife into my heart, I watched myself from another dimension.
The crimson blood seeped through the thin fabric of my white shirt.
It covered your hands, and the sides of your face.
Your eyes filled with tears of oily black, flowing down your neck like water from a tap.
You turned your head to hide the shame.
I saw the way I clutched the weapon by the handle,
And ripped it out of my chest.
How I smeared the blood on my cheeks,
My war paint.
I left you there, to comfort yourself with treacle-coloured sadness.
And I wish I didn't have the scar.
YOU ARE READING
my secret mistakes • {poetry}
PoetryThe most deeply personal thing I may ever write, from an old soul trapped in a young body. Imagine a window into my life, my unfiltered, strange and unpredictable life. These are the things I am too afraid to tell anyone. So, welcome to my mind.
