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Death
Another cut will ease the pain
But what exactly will I gain?
I pretend that everything's fine
But I'm drowning my sorrows with glasses of wine.
The crimson blood falls
Staining the walls
Nine cuts and one for luck
Hopefully it ends, my life sucks.
Another time trying
I'm sick of your lying
Wrist of scars
Soon to see stars
My final try
I'm saying goodbye
It's a little too much
The blades final touch...
Poetry
is not something you can be good or bad at....its something that just happens.
At least you’re brave enough to come to a place like this to have a sounding board.
And brave enough to pull up your sleeves and show us the blood you shed.
Well done