Every single one of My Grievances owns a knife.
Everyday, they poke and pry and torture me.
Softly stabbing me everyday.
...almost never enough to draw blood though.
But, every once in a while, My Grievances enjoy tearing me up.
They take their knives and slash my wrists, and carve my arms.
Some Grievances are truly evil and tear up my insides.
They take their knives and poke at my fragile heart and easily disturbed brain.
My Grievances will keep poking and prying and torturing
Until I pick up my own knife and end them.
End it.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for Dark Souls
PoetryThis collection of poems has been gathered over the years. All of these are dark and lined with depression. I hope that one day, there will be no need to write such things, but for right now it's my outlet.
