When I look at my wrists,
I see veins.
But I can't feel anymore pain.
When I look at my eyes,
I see them like burned down trees.
My hair is like those slithering snakes.
My skin is like a desert.
My lips are like the peeled skins of mandarines.
My eyelashes are as rough looking as the crow's feathers.
My body is like a flesh on a cutting board.
You are like the knife that cuts through me.
The smoke in my eyes,
The vulture in disguise,
The one who caged the singing bird,
The one who locked his teeth on the zebra,
The one who switched the diamond with a stone,
And the one who plucked the beautiful red rose,
Just so he can admire how it withers from the comfort of his home.
© Copyright 2016 Tatia22. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Horror
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Romance
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