Love Wound
I thought love
was a wound you chose.
I thought
you were supposed to love
until it spilled.
Until it lived
under your fingernails,
in your bloodstream,
between your ribs.
I thought love
was supposed to seep from your bones.
I thought love
was a wound you chose.
I thought
you were supposed to love
until it spilled.
Until it lived
under your fingernails,
in your bloodstream,
between your ribs.
I thought love
was supposed to seep from your bones.
That’s what happens when you forget to close to door; I would never cause I need it to seep into my bones, I don’t have any that it may seep from.
(will totally be stealing this idea of rapid posting when I do short posts)