Paper Wastes

Author

melomarl

Burning Red
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This is not a suicidal poem lmao it's just a personification of my current anxiety.

I touched my heart
with a cigarette
lit with embers
of my problems.

My heart is made
of paper wastes.
What happened next
ain't need to be said.

I lay there
in scraps and ashes
of anxious quivers,
mindless whispers.

Countless hands tried
grabbing limbs and organs
of an undead girl,
could have been reversed.

But oh my,
no matter how she cries,
no tears come out,
her blood ran out.

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