As the wound starts to burn and bubble,
My conscious is feeling the trouble,
As the earth begins to shake,
I quake at the thoughts of pain,
Tearing the skin open,
Just to find the fluid rupturing out,
Pouring. And pouring. And pouring,
The poison leaves my system,
And I feel there is something missing,
Within my soul,
I cry.
The blisters are only soon to be buried scabs.
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Sorry that this is so sudden! But I had inspiration today from seventh period. We had STAAR testing today. -_-
Any who, that is all. Just a new idea I wanted to try out. Well, bye-bye!
YOU ARE READING
Just Poems
PoetryNothing special, just poems to write and share because poems are great!
