Here I am.
Once again.
Laying on the floor.
Blood dripping from my wrists.
From when the blade gave me it's kiss.
Sharing it's sin with me once again.
Taking a part of me that is held up with only but a strand of string.
That you have cut down and wrapped around my throat and crushed the only hope that was left inside.
Watching me die.
Slowly.
But surely.
Your hands are like wrecking balls smashing into the walls that can barley hold me up.
Tearing me down and laughing as the sound of pain reins from my soul.
But then again.
I deserve to be on this cold floor.
Shivering as your fists smash down upon me like an explosion.
Your whispers of hate.
Flowing through my brain.
And I will cut into my vein.
To watch them pour down the drain
And forget you once again.
And smile as the world begins to fade.
Saving my ears from the lies you made.
Letting the blackness engulf me.
And numbing the pain.
YOU ARE READING
Loud Pøetry Spilled From The Quiet Soul
PoetryAll of these are mine. Not the Internet. Trigger warning. (Self mutilation, depression, anorexia, etc....) And my apologies if they aren't even slow to Bukowski or Anything....I just wanted to try
