Words. One by one. March from my mouth,
Whispered but amplified by the silence,
Hoping to shed the skin gifted to me by nature.
Each reply slices like a dozen razor blades,
I'd hoped to be in the bath; easier to clean the blood,
Red covers, covered by a newer shade.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 7:45 AM UTC
Words. One by one. March from my mouth,
Whispered but amplified by the silence,
Hoping to shed the skin gifted to me by nature.
Each reply slices like a dozen razor blades,
I'd hoped to be in the bath; easier to clean the blood,
Red covers, covered by a newer shade.
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