If you strip back the skin
Only the bones will remain.
What did you expect?
I'm me, not someone you think I am.
Things do not stick for long.
Instead they leave a faint stain,
Like blood.
I will not be happy with you,
I'm telling myself,
When I'm supposed to be thinking about them.
I do hope you weren't listening,
Or watching,
Or breathing.
Because tomorrow, a different demon inhabits my body.
This one will ask why it all began.
And will strip me down to my bones.
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.
