deepundergroundpoetry.com

They’re Just Old Photographs

Clouds are a mood-based filter  
filtering out the sadness~  
that touch of madness
in my drunken heart  
 
Take your snapshot now  
and run a lens across  
the memory of bruises  
over my ink-stained skin  
 
I was a kind of gentle  
the moon could envy  
softly tracing my love  
over every crack on your  
broken chest  
 
I poured the tears I had  
into the bottomless pit  
of your greedy soul  
filled it with bleeding hands  
despite my fear of your fists  
 
and now when the moon sighs  
he smiles in my hair  
traces his fingers down my spine  
and kisses the scars  
buried in my head  
 
He reaches for a single star  
and tucks it in my palms  
brushes the clouds of my past  
into galaxies and shining things  
painting suns and twirling planets  
with his perfect hands  
 
At last..  
when I think of you  
it’s distant, unrealistic  
a bad dream I once believed  
was my reality  
 
A nightmare of broken songs  
shattered mirrors,  
fears and wrongs I longed  
would become right  
 
And frankly dear,  
with three long years  
spent letting time stitch  
and mend these ugly wounds  
I can finally rest  
because..  
 
You can’t hurt me  
anymore
Written by fieryangelsouljia (M6rr6g6n)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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