07/01/21
one cut, two cuts
three cuts, four
i dont know how long
they'll say "you're bored"
as each second flies,
my wings can't sore;
for i am too heavy,
for i'm destined to fall.
one blood drips,
another one crawls.
below my heart,
a lost voice growls.
i speak, not;
yet i act with regrets.
if thy skin can't talk,
they're, perhaps, dead.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Arteries
Poetry↪ handmade poetry from someone who was once yet oft scarred. status: on-going date started | march.05.2021 date ended |
