She exhibits her sorrows
like a guise casting a veil
upon her blinded eyes. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Her hands tainted with malaise,
the reason behind every scar that casts
a prepossessing sight upon my flesh.
It is only her hands that alleviate
the agony that throbs within the
bounds of this wounded flesh. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
She carves herself into my skin
and posits herself betwixt
the incisions of my wounds.
She has infiltrated my veins.
She has infiltrated my bloodstream. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
There is no venom in this desolate vessel,
forbye her.
There is no suffering either,
not without her. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
She lingers in the air,
blissfully unaware.
My bleeding heart cries,
at the sound of midnight's benign lullaby.
She slices through my skin once again tonight,
caressing my being as she drones her final goodbye. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I PONDER UPON YOUR EXISTENCE EVERY NIGHT AND PROMPT A QUESTION TO THE DARKNESS— IF YOUR HANDS WERE THE SAME ONES THAT HEALED, THEN WHY WOULD MY BLOOD BE THE ONLY THING THEY'D FEEL?
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]
