It’s those nights,
the ones that seem to stretch
like an old rubber band
that I wish my heart
wasn’t made of paper.
How easy it is
to leave lasting imprints
that stain my soul.
I am easily marked,
impossible to erase.
With every interaction,
I am a piece of someone else.
I take their violent reds,
tragic blues,
and envious greens
and blend them into
a picture so grotesque,
it would bring anyone to tears.
Nia Rose Writes 