It's an old story,
of a bleeding girl who loves me,
reads out my poems like a sin,
remembering chemical names
and the learning my bones.
She watches my eyes,
gulping down my smiles as
she eats her dinner, letting
go of ink and sums.
She has had scars of love,
everytime her father burned her
paint brushes, pouring botulinum
in her beige room.
Everytime she wraps her hand
around me, begging me to tell my story,
she's just trying to let go of her chapters.
When she touches me, I hear the sound
of morphine splinters tripping in my spine,
as she tries to fix her mistakes;
her flickering smiles are like a
B R O K E N
M E L O D Y.
She called me an ocean,
breaking apart on her bed,
the raspberry sheets wet with me
rolling my eyes above, and then
she adds something in her list to paint.
But she was made to hold scissors,
her father explains me, sneering at
how I held his daughter.
But I say, she's evil and mine.
And her smiles -
FIX MY
B R O K E N M E L O D I E S.
~Sampurna
YOU ARE READING
Ink And Echoes
Poetry♚ ❛ Juliet, Tell me what is it like to vanquish - When you tossed the coin, And stepped on the battleground, With the accent of swords. Still you stand, Hands dripping of sin. In search of Romeo, You killed, And killed, And died. ❜ { Highest rank in...
