Blood is still pumping in my veins.
Can't you see that I have stayed far too long,
As a ghost in the wall,
As a doll going to the ball.
I feel as if I am the paper and you are the ink,
You color me into what you want to see.
My body hidden inside the wall,
You murdered me,
And shielded me,
For none to see.
But I'm right in front of your face.
Why'd you cover me with paint?
A pretty pink pastel.
Almost as pale
As my skin.
So when will it end?
I don't want to live forever if I have to be this bloody.
My dream dress for my death
Was not such a mess,
Nor was it red.
I don't have a choice,
I don't have a voice.
I guess nothing changed.
It all feels the same.
YOU ARE READING
Suicidal Poems and Quotes
PoetryIf you need someone to talk to, text me. I might not be able to help much, but I'll understand and will let you remain confidential.
