It All Comes Down To This
One closed room…one razorblade…one girl who just wants to feel and is willing to
go over the edge…
I have always loved the sight of blood. Like the way it felt and liked the different
ways I could produce it…being whole isn’t always the best. Especially when you are
leaking out nothing but the feelings produced and wanted. I want myself to be
leaking out without any possible way to be saved.
I am alone…have been for awhile. I wanted just a limited amount of “alone”. Now
the amount I have is unlimited…I don’t care…why the heck should I? nobody cares…
Words are like razorblades. They cut into you deep and leave you scarred…but
one’s just invisible…emotional…and the other is what makes you remember it with
many detailed visuals…physically…
I am not alone..for I am walking along these dark, shallow, cold streets in the hands
of death…for he knows me and accepts me for who I am, what I do, and to whom I
have hurt (nothing new)…he leads me into this place which holds silent
screams/cries…and the puddle of blood (fresh) on the floor, thoughts went through
my head…I am here…I am home
Death is my friend…my guide..he leads me into the place of every persons
dreams/wishes…he isn’t as bad as they say…he grabbed my hand…stopped the
blood from leaking out of my forearm…and wrists…he invited me to a place where I
can bleed all eternity without being stopped…
At least he understands me and wants to help…
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
