They usually ask "Why you cut?"
And I usually look at them blank
Thinking the exact same thing
Trying to find a "logical answer" for them to fit in
But I've cut every string that used to hold me sane
So in a question with so much pain
It's difficult to respond rationally
Because it's not me
the one who holds the razor
And it's not me
The one who cut the soft flesh
Its sweet flavor,
My monsters savor at night
The perfect time that lacks of light
They are so powerful and strong
That takes my shadow's form
And they change the black into the red
I'm too weak to fight and too afraid of them
So I let myself fall into their hands, sleep and never wake up
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts Can Kill
PoetrySome random and depressive thoughts. Cause when I'm feeling down poetry is my way out. Work of an amateur... First attempt to publish something as personal as my feelings.
