A sickening shriek struck the air,

The knife twisting in her gut.

Not fair, not fair, not fair.

It never stops,

The roaring tide,

Drowning her in rage,

In fear of herself.

She hated poems sometimes,

And the light they brought,

Because she just wanted to be ugly.

Her pain was not a rose,

Blooming drops of crimson,

It was just blood.

Her tears weren’t dewdrops,

Speckling the landscape on her face,

They were cold and wet and filthy.

When she yells and shouts,

Because he hit her hand,

Then sang giddily in the car,

Like nothing happened,

She wasn’t pretty.

Her throat tears in two,

And her makeup is smeared,

And her hands shake,

Clenched and digging into her own skin.

Her screams aren’t beautiful.

And she really wished people didn’t try to make them be.

☆.𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆

I’m back (for today)!!

Hope you enjoyed!

QOTW: What’s your favorite/least favorite part of fall?

I love fall so much, the vibes are simply ✨chefs kiss✨ like the leaves and Halloween and just the autumn aesthetic is so beautiful, but I hate being really cold and my school is always freezing… I also don’t love waking up at 5:30am, but oh well.

Love y’all, have a great day! ❤️🩷🫶🎶✨