your words stung
like fresh papercuts
in cold lemonade.
scarred were my fingers
by the same paper
i wholeheartedly bled on,
desperate for absorption—
for understanding.
it's bittersweet,
the fixed reality of it all.
once, i trusted your
entrapping grasp of a hand,
but you let me go,
no staggering hesitation,
to my fatal fall.
you skinned me,
layer by layer,
raw to the core—
left me there bleeding.
No water, no affection,
on the cold,
lemon-tiled floor.
-
Author:
Mya H. (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 27th, 2025 13:45
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments2
A fierce, from the hip horror story, gut wrenching but so brilliantly expressed by a truly talented poet. Powerful!
Kind regards,
Tony.
Sad and painful this poem evokes tears of hurt. Well written the message is clear
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