A way to end her suffering,
A single slice to stop the pain.
The weight in her hand,
Is her only escape.
A drop of red falls,
And lands on the snowy white.
A single imperfection,
Marks all her mistakes.
The blade,
Coloured by her blood,
Rises to her neck.
She places it ready,
She screams out,
“this will finish me!”
“this is my end!”
She falls limp,
The pool of red,
Grows around her.
Her only remembrance,
Is the mark she left.
YOU ARE READING
My Heart-Shaped Box
PoëzieThis is a small collection of some random poetry from my life, I believe that in reading a person's writing you can get an insight into the person they truly are, so this is me and I hope you like who I am
