Drip, drip, drip.
Blood runs from the cut to the fingertip.
Drip, drip, drip.
The razor just slipped.
Drip, drip, drip.
Now there's cuts on my hips.
Drip, drip, drip.
The skin just split.
Drip, drip, drip.
That's all the blood does is drip.
Drip, drip, drip.
YOU ARE READING
Fading
PoetryThis is just poems I have written and my friend Juliet Bramlitt is a BIG support in my writing poems and stories and thanks to her I'm writing this.