i crave the sound of a blade ripping at my skin,
the way the blood drips from my arm and on to the cold, white sink,
and the false sense of euphoria going through my body,
and the throbbing sensation on my pale wrist.
YOU ARE READING
Book of Poems
Poetryhey everyone it's your favorite emo here with her poems she tries to write late at night when she can't sleep, super depressed, or whatever. ****TRIGGER WARNING; BLOOD, SELF-HARM, SUICIDE.****
