each crimson ribbon
represents another fight against
dying
hating myself
and most of all
the blood red anger that creeps into my throat
every single night
the coating heat that tickles the roof of my mouth
as smoke creeps from my nostrils
begging me to scream
cry
do something that will take it away
as it courses into my bloodstream
it rips my veins to pieces
and that's why I picked up a razor
placed it against the skin on
my thigh
my wrist
and hoped
I could cool myself down
and stop the ever present thought of nonexistentnce
YOU ARE READING
wilting
Poésiejust a couple poems I started working on, figured I might as well let you know I'm not dead and I do still exist
