emotions describe themselves
a shade of cool impatience
upon the page.
they're tired of waiting for me,
to find the perfect words inside.
the red ink of blood stains
completely cover the walls of my skin.
i am screaming inside,
with nothing to say.
i hurt inside,
pretend everything's okay,
on the outside.
poems carve themselves
on the surface of my skin
until even i cant tell the difference
am i really bleeding or am i just
covered in blood
its funny how imagined pain
still hurts as if it were real
you could easily scar my soul
when you look so quickly
past my words
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful poem about grief and desire great write well done