Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
There’s a gaping hole in my chest
Proof I’ve loved, a massacre on my boots
I brace a hand hoping it’ll be enough
Hoping I will be enough
I wonder if all the men
who look in my direction
Have left a girl curled
in her bathtub demanding
from god a sweet merciful death
boiling their skin and passing out
to thoughts that won’t melt away.
You became the very thing
That drove your mother to madness

— The End —