This poison is too bitter not to share.
To not have it run through your veins,
staining every good memory you have and
highly defining the bad ones.
To not have it poke holes into every cloudy
dream you have, giving weight to your doubts
and disbeliefs.
I will circle the cup and have you gaze into your
reflection.
These wounds are too deep not to scratch into others.
To not have your heart ripped out of your chest and set
alight in front of your eyes leaving only beating cracks
in it’s place.
To not have blades tattoo desolate dreams against your
skin, unsure if today will be the day where the veins will
be nicked.
I will bare my marks and hand you the blade.
These voices are too loud not to be heard by others.
To not suffocate under your sufferings and wishing you
could resuscitate more than just your joy.
To not criticise outer beings because your inner-self is too
dark to have a reflection.
I will shout their whispered words.
This world is just too big to be the only bitter woman.
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