Not a Shame, My Athame

Go on. There we go. … That sticky red substance falls to the floor. My way of getting rid of my pain. As the blade cuts deeper, The more senses I lose. No one knows, Because they don’t care. Not even my parent’s, As they’re losing their hair. Across the tracks, Upon my wrist. Let it cut deeper, Into my peaceful bliss. I grow new scars, Almost every night, Because of that treacherous monster, Who causes my fright. He handed me this. And told me to die. His eyes held laughter, As I took the knife. He told others he was joking. But I thought not. Tonight is the night, He got what he’s want. As I cut deeper then before. My sticky red substance, Staining the floor. The only to notice, Was that purple decorated athame. Not a shame, To you, Anymore….