Crimson Cuts
A Line Drawn
You were bleeding out
Like rivers running
Into the ocean
//
You lived in shades of red
And crimson cuts were
All you knew
//
And I never felt
Your hand in mine
Just the knife you held
Sinking into my flesh
/ /
I should’ve known
You drowned in the pain
Because you loved it
Because you’d grown
Addicted to it
//
Darling the love stories
About dying together
Aren’t as romantic when
It’s you who holds
The knife
/ /
I would’ve cut myself open
To save you but
I draw the line at
You drawing the blood
_________________
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Poppy the Poet
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Confessions
What if I pressed a confession against your skin like I used to apply the band aids? What if I told you something not even my poems know? What if I told you I still wish for your happiness like I used to wish for you? What if I told you that despite the way you caused wounds in my flesh time after time, I’d still stitch yours together if you’d only come close enough to let me?
By Poppy the Poet8 months ago in Poets
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