It hurts
More than knives and gunshots
More than the thick red of blood
The agony overflows down the waterfall
Where the heart sits on top, shredded
How was it, you ask?
The scar you left on me?
Unbearable
YOU ARE READING
Purple Hyacinth
Poetry[First of The "Hyacinth" Poetry Book Series] I once wished that we won't wither. But I'm sorry, I guess those flowers were us after all.
