The first cut wasn't the deepest.
No not at all.
It was like the others,
a subtle rend of anxious skin,
a gentle pulse of crimson,
just enough to hush the demons
shrieking inside my brain.
YOU ARE READING
~Fucked up world~
Poetry"The paper and pen was there for me when no one else was.." Here I'll write my own and others poems about depression. I will be writing on both English and Swedish. I don't want people to hurt them selves, I just want to write everything down. Pleas...
"The first cut"
The first cut wasn't the deepest.
No not at all.
It was like the others,
a subtle rend of anxious skin,
a gentle pulse of crimson,
just enough to hush the demons
shrieking inside my brain.
