Pain
My mind is a rusty trap,
Covered in dusty crap,
that keeps falling apart,
from the fires I start.
The ashes adorn me,
and yet no one mourns me,
for no one remembers,
What there was to mourn.
I am made of scorn;
such hateful imaginings,
that my ears ring,
with the pulsating passion,
in my blackened veins,
my only friends remain,
labor pains,
and acid rains.
Copyright © Brittany Starks | Year Posted 2023
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