Scratch
My life is like a wound
I scratch so I can bleed
regurgitate my words
I write so I can feed
And Death grows like a weed
sprouted up inside my heart
I draw
I make art
because of these feelings I have
and the images I have seen
there must be something terrible
Terribly wrong with me
I let things hurt me
So that I can scream
and the people I use to trust?
well
They refuse to be seen
Copyright © Emma Smith | Year Posted 2014
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