The scars on my wrists,
arm and legs,
tell a deep dark tale of wars from inside.
The lines count the times I nearly lost a battle.
The blade that pierce my skin is thoughts,
or the words of others.
I have fallen in love with the feeling,
the feeling of being in control of something.
Something so small yet has a substantial effect.
Lately the wars have grown larger,
the voices louder,
and the battle scars deeper.
The will to keep on fighting has grown in significantly smaller.
I am on the edge of falling on my knees,
surrendering,
and to let the war overtake me.
YOU ARE READING
It's not all black and white
PoetryA personal collection of all my poems. >TW< This is my first book so if you enjoyed reading my poems feel free to vote and leave a comment. ❤️ Lots of love
