Home » Poems » Emilee Linthacum » My Knife

My Knife

Black eyes.
Black heart.
The pain hits me like a dart.
I'm lying on the floor.
I can't handle this pain anymore.
I take the blade.
I press it to my skin.
I know its a sin,
But this pain will never end.
My mind is empty.
I'm filled with misery.
I hate my life,
But I love this knife.

depressionemolonelinessrhyme

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Poet Destroyer A

April 9, 2014 at 9:57 AM

Hi Emilee, this is a fine deep write... Such a twisty thought.. I love it....Linda

Paul Callus

February 25, 2014 at 10:31 AM

Dear Emilee, I've read your poems. I can feel the hurt that controls your life, your feelings, your actions. Be brave and do not ever despair for life is not all bad and cruel. Sometimes we feel betrayed and unloved, but we have to be strong and look to the future with hope, courage and faith. Remember, you are never completely alone.

Emilee Linthacum

February 25, 2014 at 1:13 PM

Thank you, and i wrote these poems last year.. Im actually in a better place than i was, and im going to a therapist every other week. c:

My Knife

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