Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2016
It is not your room.
The wound is not
your wound,
so you do not feel
as if the pain is real

but the blood is factual.
The loss is actual.
The costs are varied.
Each face
wears sorrow’s
sick slick scars.

I can see them
from where you are.
Why can’t you?
Graff1980
Written by
Graff1980  43/M/Springfield Illinois
(43/M/Springfield Illinois)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems