PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The way it feels, the thrill of it,

Oh God how I want this so bad,

The shining silver knife in front of me,

Pain, sorrow, depression, rushing out,

My cool blood running over my hot arm,

The wetness of it, so soothing,

Pulsing out of my wrist liquid red gold,

Pure of illness and toxins.



I wake up on my bed drenched,

Panicking I throw the sheets in the wash,

My arm burning from the cut,

Pulsing and throbbing with the pain,

Licking the wound makes it sting,

Hearing my conscience diss me over and over,

Satisfied I sit and look at it,

The fresh mark, so pure on my arm,

I long to feel the pain again,

The lust is too strong,

I cut again and again and again until,

One day I go too deep, I cut an artery,

The oozing blood flowing out,

Drenching my clothes and bed,

Bright red liquid gold,

I drop off,

I feel my heart slow down and stop.