The red blistering object
It pumped and the red water flows
But it was pained, burned
It would cry and cry
Because they left
The healing process was slow
Not working
But another person came
Taking the red thing in their hands
And pulled tightly to their chest
Denying the person, it beat slower
Painful cries had been quietened
A fake mask created to push them away
Darent to say this had a happy ending
Because the red thing ran away
Leaving a bloody trail
Of tears and wounds, and regret
And no matter how far they chased
The red thing was too far away
Too caught up to listen
Too wounded to notice
The red thing couldn't hear the persons
Echoing screams of "stop" and "don't"
And "I love you"s
Because the screams that came from the red thing
Were louder
Louder than the love of another
Louder than the normal humans can hear
Because it was a wail of a banshee
That terrified them into jumping
Because their own pain scared them
So much to the point of death.
And their last moments was silence. No regret. No pain. Leaving simply a wound on another's heart, that began to rot and spread its disease. But they'll be fine. They weren't the same kind. Because really, no one is.
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Hopeless Poet
PoetryI write about the world. Her, him, the places of meaning, aggression, compassion, or human nature. TRIGGER WARNING !! some poems talk about s*elf harm and su*cide. Please do not read if you are sensitive to such topics. I will try to put a trigger...
