I pick up my blade
It always seems to come too my aid
I need it to survive
I need it to thrive
Without it I am nothing
Don't you see?
With every scar on my wrist is another story that shall not be told
72 scars now on my left arm I count
Some small
Some big
Each have their own place
Their on seceret
Their on story too tell
My blades always comes to my aid
It never let's me down
It never makes me drown
I depend on it to live
Its my only reason that I have too live
-Sparrow
YOU ARE READING
The Game Of Life
PoetryMany people see life in different ways. Some see the ups some only see the downs but how about both at once? The opposites coinciding on one page.
