She was feeling low
So
She took her trusty razor
And slid it across her wrist
The blood beaded and pooled
And the stress seemed to flow
"More" the voices pleaded
So one cut turned to two
There's nothing you can do
Three became four
She couldn't take it anymore
Five became six
There is no fixing this
Seven became eight
And she accepted her fate
Nine became 10
And she did this, over and over again
Until she couldn't feel
And her scars would never heal
YOU ARE READING
Depressing Poetry
RandomThis book is a culmination of poems from years ago when i was at my lowest. Trigger warning for people who are not comfortable with suicide or self harm. Most of the poems are really bad tbh, but at least 2k people like it so i wont take it down. Th...
