12/5/2021
One cut two cut three cut four slitting my throat in the Mirror leaving plasma on the floor a sticky red pool of warm hot death dripping down my shirt and soaking into my jeans smiling at the mirror as my neck pours and bleeds.
Carving a smile in my face the scars have a disturbing grace stitching up my eyes and adding to my scoreboard a cracked wall scratched off with one cut two cut three cut four.
The day that I died was at eleven years old something snapped in my brain and left a massive hole, human connection will probably always allude me but pain is something that I'm friends with me and him are old acquaintances and sometimes it's all I have to connect with so that's why I keep doing this shit staring at the mirror and going one cut two cut three cut four going to set this house on fire and lay face down on the floor.
Suicide is an epidemic I don't know how to escape it all I know is my memories haunt me memories of ghosts and attempts on my own life adding to my scars and getting beat in fights, staring at the floor one cut two cut three cut four.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of a foster kid
PoezieThis is a collection of poetry I made from ages 15 to 17 it's about mental health and growing up the last few years in foster care it's a journey about maturing as a kid but also learning to grow and deal with my demons in the on going battle of eve...
