A motionless crimson
Not falling nor running
The color won't move
It simply refused
The water washes over
Yet the crimson still remains
The victim finds no satisfaction
With the liquid unmoving
She slices continually
Awaiting a new reaction
She tries, tries, tries
Again and again
Until finally she falls
Dropping the blade
The bloodied skin collides
Yes, the crimson remains
The crimsons grown deeper
It attached to her pale cells
She sobs in defeat
Yet nothing comes out
The harm she caused
Was a certain distraction
And the victim still
Received no satisfaction
She stares at the shade of red
Urging it to flow
The color won't move
It simply refused
A motionless crimson
Only drying
YOU ARE READING
A Misunderstood Understanding
PoetryMy book of poetry; this ranges in genres, but seems to focus on the depressing side of things. There are some trigger warnings... marked with a *
