september : 18th.
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they call me sinner,
my bloodshot eyes and skin
devoid of lustre,
it petrifies them ─
as if i am death itself.
my lacerated skin and bones
doesn't ache more than
my bruised soul,
existence ─ makes sense no more,
and my bed becomes a
corroded casket.
feelings obliterated :
from my execrable mind,
i hadn't envisaged how
malevolent i am
until now,
when you name me 'villain'.
── devil.
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a/n : stay hydrated kids! <3
YOU ARE READING
paracosm | ✓
Poetrybut you see, there is a graveyard in my mouth, filled with words that have died on my lips. © 2020 mia ruby jane | all rights reserved [ a poetry collection ]
