Silent Memoir


When I am with you, the memories become mute, 

My smile always transient, graces my face at your wit,

The scars on my wrists are ever a hint,

I wear gloves so they don’t remind me of it,

The place where I was taken because I couldn’t fit,

The place where they held my hands as I threw a fit,

The place where they crucified me, hung me by the feet,

My soul left for dead, they declared me unfit,

But every time the memories come home to sit,

You hold my hands and I find peace.

hands-2 – Natalia Drepina

 Photo Challenge #147

 

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