One cold snowy night, the wind blew and my mind screamed.
One single blade came out for a skate.
Sharp and cold it placed a corner down and began to trace.
As it slid red beads came up, forming one red line and poured down the sides of the pale skin ice.
It feels nice.
My mind quiets down and my eyes grow heavy.
I hope this is death.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry from a damaged soul
PoesíaMany words that have been trapped inside finally scratched at the walls of my soul and escaped.
