The only indication of where I was last night,
Comes from the blood dried under my nails.
The only evidence of who I was last night,
Comes from the black lipstick on the desk.
There's no way of knowing when I got home last night,
Though I mustn't have been late as I do not feel tired.
I have no idea what happened last night,
Yet you won't answer you texts to tell me.
I must've been with you last night,
I only leave the house for you.
Who's blood is on my hands, darling?
Where are you now?
YOU ARE READING
A cry for help
PoetryJust a little poetry compilation in progress. ------••------ Trigger warning- Depression. Self harm. Suicide. Break ups. Alcohol. ------••------ All poems are my own. ------••------ The model in the photograph is Ash Bournes- the photo taken by...
