Wounds Are But Our Way Of Showing Ourselves

definitely not my best piece of work...

 I sit here,

in the too easily remembered position of a ball,

my mouth,

it taste like blood,

perhaps I bit it too hard,

trying not to cry,

but as the tears stream down my face,

I am but only opening the wound I know will never heal,

because when I close my eyes,

she's still here,

and as she raises her hand,

to wipe away the pain,

I see the oh-so-familiar face,

the one that promised me I'd be okay,

yet still the one threatening my sanity,

they say time heals everything,

but I'm not so sure anymore,

and as I attempt to pull myself together,

everyone smiles,

like they didn't see me fall,

like they don't know,

honestly,

are we all just playing this game,

is there no longer a life worth leading,

to the edge of nowhere,

and when I stand,

they all think it's better,

but do wounds ever heal,

when life is constantly picking at the scab?

Reviews

[Hi]

It's very creative and interesting to read. I like your work.