PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I slit my wrists because of the picture it paints,

Captivating and a burning desire behind living.

It is the spilt lifeblood sharing with the world,

Draining and burning under the smell of this humid day.

Don't say you never saw it dawning upon your eyes,

When you looked into my heart,

Saw my eyes reddened,

And heard my sobs in the night.

Don't say you have failed me,

For I have, you.

There is victory in this defeat,

So rejoice for my soul,

Dejected from this dilapidated loneliness.

It fills its moss, mold, and ivy 'round my head,

Weaving the crown of thorns to a saint and sinner.

Painting a picture with the crimson,

I see it as resembling a rose with its beauty.

Deep, dark, passionate.

Such romanticism behind this madness,

Such loss to such promise.

A word tasted upon my lifts,

A solemn departure---

And loneliness.

Climbing to the area,

Filled with warm water,

I take the silver and introduce it to my outer shell.

Placing my arms down I sit back and watch the ceiling,

As it dances for me,

I see it as my "going away party."

Don't cry for the one who is the epitome of defeat,

For she, herself, will embrace that.