Wounds
I’ll pick at the scabs of the
wounds you left me
Ready to use your past words
as I am fueled by envy
baring my teeth, seething
swatting, claws protruding
foam falls out of my mouth
Ready to lunge
Ready to run
Only to sit
Sit and pick
at the scabs of the
wounds you left me
One thought on "Wounds"
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A very deep poem with excellent metaphors.