The Art of Self-Blindness
I bury those untold stories beneath my skin and name them scars — I treat me like a burial ground for every emotion ever felt as your deep intoxication pulls me apart and tries to weigh me down and break my limbs — the agony dreads me and controls my sanity like a puppet and I cannot tear it down, I require sanity for that — I feel ripped by the fickle fingers of those well-known strangers who took my heart away and left me barren — but I still smile, and I still laugh, I still breathe — as I wonder about the identity of this stranger in the mirror in front of me.
heart drowns in numbness
when my bones bear the burden
of my empty chest
In response to this challenge:
Thank you so much for reading! And our gratitude to Miss Tre L. Loadholt for bringing us all together with a magnificent challenge once again!
