I scratch my scars
peel them off.
Turn them into scraps.
They never stop bleeding
because I don’t want them to.
This poetry is made of pain,
a style nib dipped in blood.
Verses made of hatred.
of
pain;
of
blood
Some people need a sunset
and a coffee
to find their words.
What I need
is to fill my body with my own aches
until
there
is
and nothing
I left
can
dip
my
words
in
it.
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 4:37 AM UTC
I scratch my scars
peel them off.
Turn them into scraps.
They never stop bleeding
because I don’t want them to.
This poetry is made of pain,
a style nib dipped in blood.
Verses made of hatred.
of
pain;
of
blood
Some people need a sunset
and a coffee
to find their words.
What I need
is to fill my body with my own aches
until
there
is
and nothing
I left
can
dip
my
words
in
it.
I am experimenting with shape, and it is really fun.