Her red cup
Sits by the sink
With her personal
Razor
She has heard
The pleas
Yet they
Don't seem to reach her.
She writes
On her mirror.
The words
That really cut her.
Her hair
Used to shine.
But now it lies
As dull as its owner.
Her red wrists
Only remind her
Of the manacles
Of a prisoner.
Her eyes
Oh
How they plead for help
Yet the words
"I'm fine"
Escape from her lips.
Although
Her body may
Seem bruised
Yet alive
She was truly
Dead inside.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for a Rainy Day
PoesieSome people stock up on pennies for rainy days: I stock up on small poems. Just a few random poems that I create when I am bored. For the best experience (if you even have a good experience), I would recommend reading each line by itself. Thanks fo...
