Her inky eyelashes resembled her blood stained lips,
as her mascara bled down her face,
inking a different story than she had ever told because even when she put lip balm on and cleared away the streams of black, she was still bleeding.
The story is bleeding out of her
and she's scared that once she bleeds out she'll really be empty.
How can she be anymore empty?
She has nothing left,
so she clings to this story because it's all she has within her.
She likes the cloud of smoke that makes parties hazy and she likes mirrors' glass, but she's beginning to hate the smoke and mirrors cover.
She needs to move on,
to escape,
but she can't escape her body nor her head.
So she buries her head into her pillow until she can't breath and somehow that helps the fact that she feels like she's suffocating,
due to all of the oxygen leaving her body through red blood cells.
YOU ARE READING
Pondering
PoetryI write because emotion spills out of me. This is a collection of my poems and other writing. "My words are tiny pieces of me, each one specially woven just for you. And I will give, and give, and give, and give, until I am nothing and I become your...
