Hands

Sat, 06/12/2021 - 02:42 -- Jaemak1

That night, my hands were not my own.

My mind- I was not home.

 

I did not caress, I did not cry.

You did what I was told.

I wanted it all to explode.

I wanted it all to burn at my feet.

 

I wanted to be a burning beacon of the end.

I wanted to burn alive.

 

I am burning alive

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

flower_bud

im sorry.

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