Member Poem

I opened up to a friend, someone who reads my poems like tearing open a scar on skin, who sticks to them like a second heart just after mine begins. And I asked them straight: “Where’s the flaw in this mess I made?”. They said: “You’re on the edge of bleeding and healing”. Like sipping coffee to stay awake. It’s bitter and burning, but still addicting. It’s bittersweet like the first and last day, somebody came then left.