His voice.
The first glimpse of death
I would ever receive
A siren cursing the sea
Casting a spell upon me
A monster disguised as a sheep
Praying that I wouldn't scream
He was a poet
And he was a thief
Sewing tragedy into my youth
My death was his greatest scheme
Grinning wickedly
With the whole world
In his eyes
He'd burn a thousand holes
Into my soul
Just to watch my innocence
Weep.
Now he's a ghost
Haunting the walls of my mind
Painting them with misery
But still, the siren is free
And it kills me to think
How many times will he sing?
YOU ARE READING
Written in Red
PoetryA compilation of poetry I wrote during high school about sexuality, heartbreak, navigating the world as an autistic woman, dysfunctional families, grooming and abuse, and more.
