|
intertwined thoughts with yours
stitched up wounds are open once again
appreciation of my silence
will be held no more
so close to your desires
but I will not encourage my blood
to be spilled for indignity
and I would cry but it would kill all that I know
still utter deceit enters my flesh
and I contemplate the end as I grasp for breath
bearing bloody memories while kneeling
down letting my insides pour out
and my enraged memories won’t let me open
these wounds anymore
|
