Broken
Empty, biting words
Thrown out half in jest
Sting hard against my tender face and
Rip at the new skin just beginning to cover old wounds.
A cold, hard spot forms in my chest.
I want to beat my head against this onslaught
But my feeble plea crashes harmlessly on the back of your head.
Again I’ve lost the battle, the moment.
Again I’ve gotten too close,
And the pieces of my soul pay the price.
Copyright © Caitlin Essenburg | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment