

Burningpages
What vulgar words we use. Ink them, don't become them.
Brittle hands
I stomp out these ashes
that reside so cruel
inside my heart.
Throw flower petals in
your grave
asking God to forgive me
as I pray for him to
let me forgive you
for ripping me to shreds
I thread a needle
through my poetry
it falls apart at the seams
of your tainted love
My veins hold your blood
it stains my insides and I'm left
here holding your beating heart
in my brittle hands.