deepundergroundpoetry.com
I'm A Fake
I pick the dry crust off the deep cuts on my arm,
rub the blood between my fingertips and flick the
scabs to the floor.
Wishing to be rebuilt with scars and become a walking token
of a crimson chasm.
Dressed in testimony to nights of hopelessness,
falling cautious victim to the cold binds of a razor blade
pressed against my skin-
tying me in hatred and self mutilation.
Intensely anxious in my purpose actions,
I'll flaunt my shame just for a short glimpse of your attention.
and a maybe a few reactions to my long bloody muse.
*Closes Journal, Slips Into Backpack*
"I wonder if they will notice my hair today."
rub the blood between my fingertips and flick the
scabs to the floor.
Wishing to be rebuilt with scars and become a walking token
of a crimson chasm.
Dressed in testimony to nights of hopelessness,
falling cautious victim to the cold binds of a razor blade
pressed against my skin-
tying me in hatred and self mutilation.
Intensely anxious in my purpose actions,
I'll flaunt my shame just for a short glimpse of your attention.
and a maybe a few reactions to my long bloody muse.
*Closes Journal, Slips Into Backpack*
"I wonder if they will notice my hair today."
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