deepundergroundpoetry.com
Cutting edge, the bloody truth.
I haven't done it in a while,
but every now end then, I'll pick up the blade,
press it to my skin.
Will I win?
Not this time, today I lost.
I watch the blood trickle down my body. It all happened so fast.
Well if I want to be free I guess this is the cost.
So many things gone through my head.
When it was over, I looked down at the blade.
And I looked down at my wound.
Not again, I think. What did I do?
Other days, I beat it. But in a sad way.
I press the blade down, hard enough to feel it,
but not enough to penetrate.
I can't go through with it, and I break.
I start balling and whaling and screaming, oh God.
What's wrong with me, why am I so unhappy?
but every now end then, I'll pick up the blade,
press it to my skin.
Will I win?
Not this time, today I lost.
I watch the blood trickle down my body. It all happened so fast.
Well if I want to be free I guess this is the cost.
So many things gone through my head.
When it was over, I looked down at the blade.
And I looked down at my wound.
Not again, I think. What did I do?
Other days, I beat it. But in a sad way.
I press the blade down, hard enough to feel it,
but not enough to penetrate.
I can't go through with it, and I break.
I start balling and whaling and screaming, oh God.
What's wrong with me, why am I so unhappy?
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