Your fingers were scarlet
Tracing lines upon my back
Like letters to a pen pal
That never replied
Etching secrets like lyrics
Against the spine
Scars laid out in white shadows
Like a book you never though you’d read.
Our mouths spoke love,
But our ears were still ringing
From the internal screaming
To which we subjected ourselves.
Too afraid to fight back
Against the only ones
Who seemed to care about ourselves.
Moonlit Poetry 