deepundergroundpoetry.com
Anatomy Of Hurt
Flesh gives before i do.
A thin red line separates the quiet
from the screaming in my head,
proof that I'm still here,
proof that I'd rather not be.
The body betrays itself,
tender and raw,
breaking under the weight
of hands it thought it could trust.
Pain is a harmonious language-
simple, sharp,
speaking truths that can't be said out loud.
It says - you deserve this.
It says - this is all there is.
Bruises bloom, beautiful and dark,
wanting constellations on a body turned into a battlefield.
No one looks close enough to see the carnage,
the decimation of my own sin.
This is not survival.
This is surrender.
A quiet obliteration,
an undoing, a fight i cannot win.
And still,
i linger,
A prisoner within.
A thin red line separates the quiet
from the screaming in my head,
proof that I'm still here,
proof that I'd rather not be.
The body betrays itself,
tender and raw,
breaking under the weight
of hands it thought it could trust.
Pain is a harmonious language-
simple, sharp,
speaking truths that can't be said out loud.
It says - you deserve this.
It says - this is all there is.
Bruises bloom, beautiful and dark,
wanting constellations on a body turned into a battlefield.
No one looks close enough to see the carnage,
the decimation of my own sin.
This is not survival.
This is surrender.
A quiet obliteration,
an undoing, a fight i cannot win.
And still,
i linger,
A prisoner within.
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