narrative flaw

i can feel your scars under the sheets.
they expel warmth, but keep their origins deep inside.
if i caress your skin too close, will it spill blood and truths untold?
would it hurt the fabric of your soul, if i unravelled all your covered tales?

i fear they would entrap me and feed off the sorrow of my sins.
growing in strength, sadness and the marvels of my pain.
as it rips and tears me apart, and you idly sit by wondering why.
my own self destructive insecurities will hold me to a path, letting go the troubles of my past.

if there’s a light inside me, will it succumb?
do i have a chance to redeem my soul, from my damning curiosity?
i hope that sooner than later, i’ll be free from its grips of serenity.
unless you can recall the creature and keep it inside away from my prying hands.

i never did it to cause you pain, but if i told you – would it really change anything?


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