And if these words ever seem too tragic, know that they stabbed me long before they were written. They wrapped their spindly fingers around my throat and told me never to speak. They gauged out my eyes and made me adjust to the darkness alone. Know that they pierced my heart with their jagged teeth, and drained it of its only life source. They sucked the very oxygen from my lungs, lifeless is how they like to operate. If these words ever seem too tragic, too disconsolate, know that they’re lucky to be born, for they come from a writer who's already dead -whose final resting place is on paper.
About the Creator
Erica Scott
A young adult, self-proclaimed poet from Florida who writes from a place of uncertainty, just hoping to one day reach the depths of someone else's heart besides her own.
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