The tender kiss of the blade.
The swift slice of a wrist
The Crimson red blood
The slight sting
The sweet pleasure
The pain melts away
Just for a second
So I do it again and again
I can't stop.
I won't stop
YOU ARE READING
The broken
PoetryThe stinging burn of the water from my fresh cuts. The hot salty liquid streaming down my red hot cheeks. The times I am in so much pain that I can't even cry anymore.
