metaphorgirl

i tasted love once;

it left a bitter aftertaste on my tongue.

scorched and tender, my gums bled.

an invisible sore began to grow,

and day after day i picked at it;

it never had the time to heal.

often times i tore it wide open,

allowed any type of parasite to wonder through,

they especially liked the warmth my wounds had to offer.

quietly cushioned between my trauma

and their own misunderstanding,

they found comfort and solitude.