oh, don't tell me.
you know i know.
i've seen the blood trails underneath
all you wear to conceal,
and i've heard you crying
when other people said
you should have been singing.
but i knew better:
the scarred face of your life
is the scarred face of here.
empty, broken, desolate here,
where the only songs sung
are of other times and places,
back before the first hurts
and those godforsaken latest
goodbyes
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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