Puncture

As the thorn tears through my skin, I feel a tingling sensation within. It caused me pain, and yet it helped me feel alive, the last time that I felt this way was when I got tattoos. Your words are made of bullets, they pierce and sting my soul, I can’t conceive that I believed the hatred you inspired. The way it all sounds in my head, those awful words you used, like “I wish you would die”, “Go find a new life”, or determining my worth. I’m haunted and I’m wounded, punctured through the heart, a new hole every single time you toy with my emotions. So I’ll never forget the things you said, I take them to my grave, and I’ll hope that in another life, I don’t see you again.


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