If Reflections Could Talk....

Red stain of self hatred on your lips
Dripping delusions from your finger tips
So many internal wounds you pick
You are what you abhor
Sewn back together but never whole
Shattered pieces that were your soul
Holding the hand that made the hole
Nothing to stand for
Withheld words have a bitter taste
Shoes snug with lies you've laced
Turn your back on what you can't face
But you can't ignore
You're so used to burning bridges
Without stability the mind unhinges
Tattered wings with black fringes
Burnt to the core

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed