There was a switch in his step
like he was falling with every breath
and his fingers dug into my denim
they were sore from that time
he tried to butcher us with
with infidelity and dysmorphia
He didn't know then,
that we'd died, long before
his worst fears
Our pillows were stripped
and laid with us
Our blood drowned in the sheets,
the kind of red that could
have put better men in their place
YOU ARE READING
ReAnimation: A Poetry Collection
PoetryThis is a collection of poems from my youth that were pretty edgy and poorly written. Here, I've updated, edited, and reinvented them so they are not just a pile of lost causes in my poetry archives.
