With her delicate fingers,
She cut through her skin.
With the tears filled with affections,
Under the banner of them being mean.
She sleeps on shattered floors,
She leans on depressing walls.
With her razor, she slashed trough her knees.
She watches the blood drip,
As society shouts and hissed.
Her muffled sobs filled the air,
With the world on her shoulders.
With her life un repaired,
With her life in despair.
Shes lost in the dark,
Playing a dangerous part.
But her thoughts as still here,
As she cries in Velvet tears.
But in this story theres a little twist.
Where the knife was society,
That wounded her wrist.
But it does not stop there,
Her life might not be over.
But they fell trough the Dark Arts,
While her wrist was her Heart.
YOU ARE READING
The Gothic Poetry
PoetryAs a person with mysterious visions, I present my Gothic Art. From the Poems that I wrote, Just came from the heart. I write to express, My thought and creativeness. For showing a side of me, That you haven't even guessed. With the fantasies I dr...
