The Past Is Real

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  • Pain

    The Past Is Real

    The pain erupts,
    Intensly burning all the feelings away.
    She looks at her reflection in the mirror.
    And then the scars show on the insides of her arms.
    The past is real is all she thinks.
    Many thoughts crowd her mind.
    Why did I start?
    Will I ever be free?
    Will someone come and save me?
    The thoughts are always there.
    Never fading.
    She fears that she will be found out.
    She covers herself
    And sighs.
    Then walks away.
    With theses scissors in her hand.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    silentcry09’s Poems (62)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
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