Saturday, October 25, 2014

self loathing

the hatred he felt
for the way he was born
sparkled in the droplets
of blood
welling up in the half-moon tears
up and down her arms.
scar tissue
gouged
in the depth of a soul
too young
to comprehend his pain was not
her fault.
when his own blood
splattered hotel walls
she understood
and commemorates his pain
with love
in ink
where he’d left it
so many years
before.

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