Lost words...broken sword. Switchblade in my spine...hot liquid spills over my shattered face.Teeth dribbled from my lips...hands grabbed around my waist...fighting hands leaving with a brand. Sorrowful, vacant cursed, and screaming inside...red is what I bleed..love is what I need...death is what I dream about...blinded by the name that is weeded from the grain...fight is what my nature tells me to do...but inside I want to fold...the cold push... overwhelmed with the need to continue to bleed... Lethargic and used up...white and pruned.Shriveled to the core...yet I continue to be no more...
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Visions Of Spookielament
Poetrydark poetry for the dark hearts. .. if you ever feel like a freak accident you are not alone. I too have those emotional scars and some even physical reminder to never reach that level again..I write for how i feel at the moment. I have pstd. Depr...
