Sharp pointed shiny silver,
to run along my skin,
to give me the shivers,
Without any sins.
It must be stopped halfway,
and be pushed from my mind,
For or else my vow shall die.
My fingers ache for the smooth metal,
to cut my skin, causing pain to awaken me,
I wan't the adrenaline, to course through my veins,
and my crimson blood,
To spell out my name,
Like paint.
my body aches for that little slice,
To take me from reality.
But I know this must not be done,
For evil is all that I will become
YOU ARE READING
Behind The Mask ~ Poems for the Mind
PoesíaA collection of strange, random poems dedicated to the unique ability of the mind to think. Some will be personal to me while others are written specifically to boggle the readers mind, and I hope my dear readers will comment what the poems mean to...
