The nails at the ends of my fingers
Are a different kind of blade
They aren't ice cold or sharp
But I bleed just the same
The scratches on my arms
Are from a different kind of pain
It isn't deep and firey
But the scars still remain
YOU ARE READING
Rain Clouds
PoetrySimple poems, each with a story just behind them. ••• This book will be updated whenever I write a new poem worth posting. I draw inspiration either from my own complicated emotions, or sometimes even stories I've created in my mind. I suppose only...
