(content may be triggering)
Those lines across her skin
They're receipts of the price she pays
To be able to say that she's okay.
They're not the marks of abuse,
Not the scars from a fight;
They are that and much more,
They're her past coming back
To haunt her at night
She's not okay don't you see?
But she won't tell you a word
If you keep trying to make her be
Stop telling her what she is
Ever thought she might already know?
It's not demons but you
That haunt her tired, tortured soul.
YOU ARE READING
Notes
De TodoA glimpse into my mind. These are notes from my phone, starting from 2013 to the present day. My poems, rants, late night thoughts, things I've seen and heard, words I wanted to remember. (Note: There is some content hinting at various mature or tri...
