Shocks of pain shot through my veins,
As the sharp blade drag across my skin.
A twisted smile on my face, I threw the blade in the bin,
And began to be numb, I can feel no pain.
The blood cascades down my arm,
And just like before, it's still thick and warm.
Through the deep cut I see the crimson path of relief,
'Coz finally, I'd be able to get out of this abyss of grief.
I sat there and watched as blood continued streaming,
I waited for my heart to stop beating.
But minutes passed and I didn't stop breathing,
So I looked in the mirror and saw a girl's tear-stained face pleading.
I realized, that girl's like me, tired of being imprisoned like a criminal,
She tries and tries, but maybe it's not yet her time to die.
She stared at her bloody canvas, another piece to add to her gallery,
That girl is me and I hope the next cut would finally set me free.
YOU ARE READING
The Woebegone's Deepest Thoughts
PoetryAll we can do is to write what we feel, what we experience in life and what dramas we've been through in our lives. A collection of book consisting of poems and short stories dedicated to the people who can relate theirselves about it. Some are real...
