The lights go out
and her eyes brighten.
The tears stream down
and the mascara dies.
The blade is sharp
as she stretches towards it.
He hand trembles
shaking as she gets closer.
One cut, then two,
three, then four.
Another two, her eyes close,
one for a better life.
The lights come one
as she hides her face.
The blade is on the floor
and so is her blood.
The mask is back
and her face is clear.
the answer to her question is nowhere near.
YOU ARE READING
My life: In poems
PoetryHere is just a few poems I wrote about what I went through. There is some graphic details and warning these are not all happy poems. NOTE: COVER PICTURE IS NOT MINE I HAVE NO CLAIM TO IT WHATSOEVER
