"I love you." I whisper hands covered in my own blood.
I'd kill myself for you
I hurt myself for you
I hurt myself because of you.
Your son
Your joy
Your child
Your blood
That blood is now splashed over the floor of his own bedroom
The bedroom that bares the mark of both his life and his death
The mirror painted darkly
The posters plastered on the walls
The CDs spread across the floor
Songs
Albums
Artists
Books on the shelf
Somewhere he would rather be
No one kill's themselves in a book
Not a happy one
That is better than this
There is likeable characters
There is a balance of good and evil
Happiness and darkness
Life and death
He cut his arm twice every time he messed up
Once for the mistake
Twice because that is a mistake too
Maybe something in him thought he'd stop messing up if he bared enough pain
You died in your stupid game
Because of him
He died because of you
Do you understand this isn't a game here?
YOU ARE READING
If This Makes Me A Troubled Teen Fuck That Poetry ;)))
Poetry⚠️Mentions Of Rape, Self Harm, Suicide, etc⚠️ There isn't a cure to man's problems. Only death, which is is a problem itself. I crave that nasty blade at my throat. Some poetry for a son that never lived in his father's eyes and never died as a daug...
