im depressed, like always, and i should probably seek help. instead im writing a poem to vent, it may be disturbing sad or both, and no im not going to kill someone
blood begins to drip on the white marbel floor
still i press harder, cutting more
my shirt turns a very bright red
i remember other times i have bled
i bleed for you, the one i loved
but away from you i was shoved
with your own hands you push me away
as i cry i pleed to stay
you look at me with dead eyes
you only want popularity, it is your prize
i clung to you hard at first
my heart about ready to completely burst
but away from me you turned and ran
my plans for my end had then began
so here i am now, knife in hand
on my wrist one small red band
out of it drips my life
taken by a cruel knife
Yea depressing much? you know what's funny though? me and the person who made me depressed made up while i was writing this so thats good. while imma go now, peace! (tell me if this made you think of cake!)
