She carves in deep,
With knives of hate,
And words so sharp
They're meant to hurt
Her broken heart.
Once she was the sun for me
Now lies quietly our symphony
And she sees ghosts all around
But they don't make a single sound
She is lonely and alone
So she follows them about
She carves her bones
And twists her blood
She is a painting, a sculpture
But she is dead
And long since gone
YOU ARE READING
Gentle Reminders of You
Poetryoh, reader, my reader, please don't hate what you are about to read they come from a part of me deep inside buried beneath blood and flesh warped in anger and weeping challenged in love changed in trust bound by hope and they are yours
