Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
tell me, if i tear my way out of this skin — bash it, cut it all open until all that's left is a hollow beneath a veiled sculpture, if i peel these wound scabs raw and adorn them with buttercups: an offering to the god of death, if i scratch on these wrists hard enough, long enough, deep enough, they won't heal, creating an outlet — a crevice, nonetheless, tell me, can i finally escape myself? can i finally escape myself?
0
Mar 18, 2020
Mar 18, 2020 at 9:14 AM UTC
the light. the black hole.
tell me, if i tear my way out of this skin — bash it, cut it all open until all that's left is a hollow beneath a veiled sculpture, if i peel these wound scabs raw and adorn them with buttercups: an offering to the god of death, if i scratch on these wrists hard enough, long enough, deep enough, they won't heal, creating an outlet — a crevice, nonetheless, tell me, can i finally escape myself? can i finally escape myself?
femininedeath
Written by
27/F/Philippines
Mar 18, 2020
Mar 18, 2020 at 9:14 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem