You left me there.
Bleeding, struggling to even breathe.
The stitches on my wounds were hashed open,
and I was left to die once again.
The very stitches you had sewn into my skin, the ones that kept me from falling apart.
Little did I know,
you'd be the one to cut them open,
and leave them to infect.
You had fixed me up.
Filling up the cavity in my heart,
with everything you were made of.
Once my insides were filled to the brim,
you cut me up.
Isn't it funny to think how once upon a time,
these very insides used to be filled with love for you?
You took pieces of me as you left.
Pieces which now seem to belong to you.
With the snap of your fingers you could build me up,
with a snap you could break me down.
And just like every other night,
today, I once again bleed out.
Only to be filled with your sins.
YOU ARE READING
VEIL'D MELANCHOLY.
PoetryNeither salt nor sugar settles on your tongue. Only this blood of mine does. Neither I nor she fills up your heart. Only these tears of mine do. [POETRY/PROSE]
