her unfamiliar name belongs to me
her shard of memories feels unreal
the void that's impossible to be filled
if saving herself was not in
her wishlist.
the warmth of unsaid thoughts,
wishing death upon one's reflection,
the bittersweet taste of joy,
little red sea across the wrist yet
the emptiness brings her comfort,
more than anyone in this world could ever offer.
sigh.
honestly,
am i just alive for the sake of not wanting to die?
khayr.q
YOU ARE READING
ownness
Poetry: the quality or state of belonging to oneself. trigger warning: simply, a person that finds comfort in their own words.
