Small splashing sounds,
Echoing around.
The room in which I was found,
Laid, displayed on the ground.
Blood dripping from wrists,
Ones that blades had just kissed.
I used to silently wish,
And now I have this.
Death was a virtue,
That was mine now.
YOU ARE READING
Ink (Trigger Warning)
PoetryPoetry written by me. Inspiration found in everyday life continues to spark ideas for my poems, if anyone reading this has any poetry please tell me I would love to read it. Top ranking: #11 in poems
