A poetry for the eyes that used to look into my eyes. For the mouth that used to speak to me. For the hands that used to hold me. For the love that you used to give me. I was wrong, I FOUND IT ALL IN MY SELF
I had slit blades deep on my wrist. Others hate me for doing it, Others laugh about it and Others said Its a sin, dont do it again. I Felt so heavenly doing it, dopamines are arrising pushing through my veins like all the good things Combined, thus I found the real reason not doing it again, No one really did care. YET ME
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