Alcohell

Vodka swills my belly with fire
It makes my heart pound
It makes my veins itch

Nasty thoughts swirl round
What kind of woman thinks this?
What kind of girl does this?

Fingers itch for a blade
A rivulet of crimson blood
A sigh of buried shame

As fire swells through my veins
I think don't call me today
I don't want you today

The high pitched scream begs
me come on inside here
Feel the slick razor's edge

Release all the pent up fear
the caged up sickened rage
let it out like a baby's sigh
Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

Poem

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Widjanarko Avatar
November 25, 2012 at 5:25 PM
Agree with Richard, hopefully this is only a fiction, but well written though :) - Hug, Yanny
Palmer Avatar
November 25, 2012 at 12:21 PM
hope this is fiction,lol,if it's not the solution is simple,take a little time out,pray,have faith and believe,God is here for you, you are gonna be surprised,sad write Nicola
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