The poem as prey, as blood luscious, elusive. The poem as the locked room.
37 posts
Tw: Self Harm, Self Loathing
Tw: self harm, self loathing
A girl lies on her bedroom floor.
She bleeds through her eyes and cries through her veins.
I watch her helplessly and let her fall apart.
Everyday she fights long lost battles and dies gruesome deaths.
Her life is nothing but a grave full of dead hopes.
I watch her and do nothing.
Perhaps because there isn't much left of her to be saved.
She is covered in bruises I don't recognize her anymore.
I watch her with curiosity.
Her eyes dark and cold like the night itself, she reeks of misery.
A home full of ghosts, none of them remotedly as dead as her soul.
I watch her mercilessly.
After all that's what monsters like her deserve.
I say, and I stop watching her.
No part of her deserves to be loved.
I say, and I step away from the mirror.
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More Posts from Unlikelyanonymous
Your eyes that once looked like home
Now look like weapons that killed me.
Your face that once spelled out love
Now spells out grief to me.
.
You once were my cure from humanity,
Now I guess I was never meant to heal.
What once brought out the best in me,
Now brings out the poet in me.
.
Your soul that once meant beauty,
Now means emptiness and vain.
Our love that once made us soulmates,
Now makes us strangers again.
.
Your fictive touch, my anxious rush,
Now I know how grief feels.
Your gentle words and brittle oaths,
Now finally I let you ruin me.
Sometimes I want to go back and hug my younger self, and then I remember I’m still her and I’m still deserving of that love
Green eyes
Green eyes more altering than the phases of the moon itself.
Warm green of honeydew when life strikes with kindness.
At crucial times, a poised snake; cautious and still.
A lurid shade of poison ivy, a secret to unveil.
A sea green touch when victorious. A glory to be held.
A lover's touch, an emerald flush. A fondness to be felt.
A steady green of summer leaves, at humour and sheer delight.
Anger darkens them cold and harsh, to the almost black of woods at night.
An endless chase of grief and despair, a helpless shade of teal.
A bleeding heel and olive green. Your eyes they haunt me still.
If to love is to rest then I will perceive death for you.
For what greater form of rest do we know than to lie in the cold, dark earth forever?
The worst thing you ever did was to make me believe I could be loved