Your hands fell upon my skin.
Those soft and delicate hands.
They held me tightly.
While you kissed my scars lightly.They took my face and dried my tears.
They even helped me face my fears.The rain fell on that cold night,
the night when you dug your nails into my skin until it bled.
You tied my wound with a needle and thread.It took a while to heal, but the marks you left remained.
But, it was worth the pain it gained.Your hands will always be a good memory.
They'll comfort me even when I set you free.
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Love and Hate
PoetryIs it possible to love and hate at the same time? What is love? Why do we hate?