Random Short Stories/Poems

Sometimes

Sometimes, in the dead of night, in the dawn of day

I would look at my pale wrist, with my fingers, trace the veins

And wonder why exactly they say things are okay

When my sleeves are so easy to stain

Don't make me say it, the words that bring tears forth

The pain of the present is so reminiscent

Of the future, the past, and every single encore

A razor held to a dry throat, should I slit it?

Sometimes, in the dead of night, in the dawn of day

I'll let out my thoughts on a torn out page

Scream out myself hoarse, but they won't go away

I don't even bother trying to pray

I know you'll never hear the words that I say

So I let my voice fizz and fade away