Roses are the color of blood,
And violets are the color of bruises,
Love is not an option,
Because the heart always loses.
Wrists are for bracelets,
Not blood stained wrists from harming.
Suicide isn't beautiful,
Its a tragedy waiting to be forgotten.
Don't waste your time thinking you're happy,
Don't smile and say you're okay.
In the end you're only lying.
Does the color of roses come from the color of wrists after they've been slit?
Does the color of violets come from the bruises forming in places you hope will be never seen,
Or will be mistaken for love bites,
And not loving abuse?
Does the heart hurt from always loving,
Or thinking that everybody should be forgotten?
I have a question,
Does your pain help you know you're human,
Or did it only make you lose your mind?
I'm not okay,
Locked away,
Only questions keeping me sane.
I have a question,
Do you know if I'm okay?
YOU ARE READING
Drowning In Sorrow- Poetry
Poetry*Trigger Warning* Suicide, cutting, depression, abuse, self harm, death etc. ~I didn't know happiness as well as I know sorrow ❤️ Stay strong ❤️
