Only a few could understand
The pleasure in the pain
The endless screaming demand
Of that voice- and its disdain
They tell me "Look to Him,
You are His, seek God's aid!"
But my light of faith is dim
And I find comfort in the blade
I cannot be saved by wine
Much less by broken bread
I'll just draw a deeper line
Solace in those drops of red
With all this reverence and praise
I still hate to see you start
Because your life the blade with raze
None to help your breaking heart.
YOU ARE READING
Consumed
PoetryI do not promote self-harm. I strongly discourage it, in fact. because I know first hand how much the blade will control you and your life.
