how come you are allowed to impail me?
you were within the deepest crevices of my secrets dear;
the tenderest of flesh.
i wish i could scream
but i didn't
i couldn't...
i frantically grasp the exposed skin-
saggy and green:
contaminated.
every part of me is tinted rotten, you know?
if rotten was pink, red, bleeding.
you never apologised,
i never asked you to...
who cares if my skin was flaking (my fault anyways).
your cursed villianly action only brought me pain,
a stigma i can't erase.
YOU ARE READING
young.
Poetryaren't we the lucky ones? we get to feel dead when we're supposed to be living. a collection of scrap paper rambles when i was younger.
