The knife is against your throat and I don't think I'd regret it
Stop picking at my skin
Pull your teeth out of my neck
Leave me somewhere between life and death
Pain and emotionless
Good to know I don't have to fix this
I know respect
Your blood will stain my hands and the collar of your top
I'll pick at the little meat on your bones and keep the rocks in your pockets
My knuckles cannot be whiter, permanent stains in my vision
Your face so far away or non existent I can't remember the shape of your eyes
YOU ARE READING
If This Makes Me A Troubled Teen Fuck That Poetry ;)))
Poesía⚠️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...
