Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2018
Hot iron pressed against my chest. My skin tears and muscles rip. My ribs and my spine are now broken. I fall to the ground, and break my skull. I am stepped on. I am crushed. My guts are spilling over the floor. I am dead.
I feel like I can barely breathe. Is it really that difficult to see me the way I am?
blake
Written by
blake  20/FTM/Purgatory
(20/FTM/Purgatory)   
140
   Sara Leal
Please log in to view and add comments on poems