How you bled every day ,
Composing poetry through your blood,
writing your pain out
while the one closest to your heart stood near
the beauty you always praised and loved.
She admired the elegance of your lines,
noticing. yet never feeling,
or perhaps feeling
but never daring to ask.
She saw the crimson between the verses,
and still called it art,
while you kept splitting yourself open
to carry your grief alone.
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 8:30 AM UTC
How you bled every day ,
Composing poetry through your blood,
writing your pain out
while the one closest to your heart stood near
the beauty you always praised and loved.
She admired the elegance of your lines,
noticing. yet never feeling,
or perhaps feeling
but never daring to ask.
She saw the crimson between the verses,
and still called it art,
while you kept splitting yourself open
to carry your grief alone.
