I Bled Myself Dry

Everything is a shattered memory,
like shards that cuts my hands and knees
while I crawl through the debris.

I don’t stop until I’ve bled myself dry,
until every ounce is poured out.

I’ve always denied how much my pain
has been inflicted by my own hands.

I do this to myself to give the hurt a home,
and to keep from feeling alone.

I thrive on this feeling, this emptiness,
the hollowness of broken bones.

Every single broken bone,
a reflection of a broken heart.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspired by: Levi the Poet’s The Pianist: I found myself in a closet stuffed with all of my insecurities and all the things I’m ashamed of and every broken memory that I keep to cut my wrists. So be it vain or be it pity. Well I know that I still bleed, and I keep the shards of mirrored glass to see my expression.”

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SSmoothie's picture

Excellent poem! A worthy

Excellent poem! A worthy poetic response indeed! Hugss


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