when my skin feels too tight
around my weary bones
and my organs feel crushed
under my weight
i know it's getting bad
driving home, i don't know where i am
my hands are the navigator
my mind is miles from the drivers seat
all i can think about is peeling my skin back
a blossoming flower
letting the darkened blood slip over
pale fingertips
nobody wants to be around me
i feel like i'm being pushed
further and further
my heels are dangling off the edge
i'm dripping blood
my bones are wings
carrying me to the void
where i am nothing
where my body is light
my eyes are dark
my bones are freed from the skin
too small for my body
and i sit on my throne of self-loathing
knowing they won.
YOU ARE READING
metanoia
PoetryM E T A N O I A (n.) : the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life this is my first poetry book, and because this book is not completed yet they are very unorganized. when i'm finished the book will be rearranged. all poetry is...
