Rusted.
I forget how blissful being noticed can be.
My skin cries rusted tears,
They well up and drip as such.
I'll cry forever, so to stars, I clutch,
And while useless,
Each is not without meaning,
For if I cry, it's red tears bleeding from skin,
I find it satisfying to think of,
And though I know the danger, maybe that's the beauty.
I still cry, but not for your cruelty,
I weep and bitterly wait for the kindness you once showed me.
K