The Wound

Bleeding bleeding bleeding,
How do i make it stop.
I wrap it with my shirt,
or tie it off with my belt, 
but everything is for not.

Bleeding bleeding bleeding,
this gives me time to think.
As I lay here all alone,
The truth is what I drink.

Bleeding bleeding bleeding,
it will finally stop, no doubt.
There was never a need to think about it, 
My cares have all bled out.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

Poem

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