Quirk

In a house, not a home.
Feeling so alone.
Push to the bone.
Not even a moan.
Escapes my lips.
As it slips.
And rips.
My skin.
Push it deeper in.
And I'll sleep within.
The confines.
Of my mind.
I really hope these dreams aren't signs.
To the blind.
I think you'll find.
I'll take every blow.
You throw.
Every insult, every slight.
They all haunt in the middle of the night.
When I'm awake.
And I start to pace.
When tears stream, down my face.
But I hide away, just incase.
Someone sees the scars I place.
Or have been put there, by others' hands.
I wear them, like you wear wrist bands.
These show where I have been.
These show the things I've seen.
Syliva Plath's got nothing on me ;)
-H