Suddenly
a sharp object is near me.
my hand would slowly
And shamefully reach for it.
Without thinking almost as if it's designed to do so.
My imagination running wild the moment my hand touches the cold sharp metal.
images of my wrist cut open, blood pouring everywhere.
Flowing out, slow placed draining the life out of me.
Making me drift to eternal sleep,
Or perhaps eternal darkness.
Who the fuck really knows?
-my own terms
YOU ARE READING
Haunted |+18|
PoetryA letter of all the things I cannot say out loud but am constantly thinking and being haunted by. Dark content used in the story Read at your own risk
