Broken,
she tied her veins in knots;
her heart, she tore
until it gasped with every beat;
she lined her corneas
with her fingers; she wrote
until they were too afraid,
too dry,
to leak anymore.
She used her wrists like a diary,
writing away all the pain
—or so she thought—
for her limbs were haunted
by a girl of the past
—a ghost
whom her pupils still cannot separate
the rods and cones
to discern as herself.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
Broken,
she tied her veins in knots;
her heart, she tore
until it gasped with every beat;
she lined her corneas
with her fingers; she wrote
until they were too afraid,
too dry,
to leak anymore.
She used her wrists like a diary,
writing away all the pain
—or so she thought—
for her limbs were haunted
by a girl of the past
—a ghost
whom her pupils still cannot separate
the rods and cones
to discern as herself.
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