Cuts

5 0 0
                                    

Her hands were red as velvet. The blood was rushing fast. She knew she'd be a gonner, but how long will she last?

Her wrist was a crimson Nile. Her freshest wound, too deep. Would she slip into a slumber? An ever-lasting sleep?

Losing life, bit by bit, her memories pass her by. She's lost all hope, fornow she knows, it's time to say goodbye.

The Depths: Original PoetryWhere stories live. Discover now