There have been so many times
Too many
That I have scratched at my skin
And imagined the blood flowing from it
Wounds of my own creatioin
Mind and body
I bide my time
-how many hours?-
Ruminating over what it would look like
How it would feel
To rid myself of some of this ugly pressure
That I feel
If I were to just release it in some way
Maybe I would find
That I could feel better
I have thought of the places that would be safest
The places not so noticeable
-I mean who needs to wear shorts anyway?-
But no, I know that this is worng
And I shouldn't do
What I dream to do
With the knife that is in my hand
So I put the weapon down
And it remains solely in my thoughts
Where forever it wil stay
In its drawer to lay
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Mine
PoetryJust some poems and lines that I've thought of or will think up. -when I start writing, I can go on for hours because my mind is on overdrive and nothing else matters
