It's funny how I think of death and feel like cutting.
Yet I don't chase after death nor run to a metal blade.
I go run towards my rubber blade.
Something that streatches.
I feel pathetic saying this.
I flick my wrist with a rubber band when I'm too weak to fight but too strong to give in.
I feel worse each day....
I can't be alone in my emotional state.
I run straight to my rubber blade.....
I really do want to die...
That blade keeps me from snapping.
YOU ARE READING
Read If You Want To
PoezjaHere I write poems but I may make a new book as a continuation to this one but I don't know
