|
| |
red proof
You didn't love me.
Not even a little.
Not in the quiet way I needed—
not in the way that could’ve saved me.
So I carved it into skin
because I needed someone
to see something real.
And pain?
Pain shows up.
Pain answers.
Lines on my arms like tally marks—
not counting days,
but the moments I survived
wanting to disappear.
The blade was a lover that never left.
It kissed without shame,
whispered, “You are here. You are real.”
They say: “Don’t.”
I say: “Then help me feel something else.”
Because your silence
was louder than any scream I ever made
into my own flesh.
And maybe the blood
was just a truth I could finally hold,
when your love was nothing
but a ghost that wouldn’t
haunt me back.
Copyright ©
blaire hensley
|
|