Her Last Words

Blades and a Knife

I have these friends,

I like to call them,

'My Saviors'

They hide

In a shoe box under my bed,

Some in my bra,

Others in the Altoid's box.

They crawl out at night,

To be seen by no mortal eye.

Except mine.

They come out thirsty.

Running their fingers slowly across my wrists,

Scratching my thighs,

My own sick pleasure.

Lickimg me, to disguise my pain.

Like leeches,

The bloodsuckers leap at the sight of the red ink,

Flowing down my wrists.

Streaming down every bit of skin.

My own sick pleasure.

They make me feel good,

For the moment.

And when I'm screaming to the night,

'Cuz they went to deep,

They sit in silence, going cold feet.

Her last words:

They're my own sick pleasure.