I was the one who swallowed the sun
and yet it is your touch that burns
on to my skin like an insignia of shame;
halos of quiet desperation,
a footprint on the welcome mat to our own
little hell.
So the next time you cry for your skin,
remember
I scar for you.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
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