deepundergroundpoetry.com

Again, Not really a poem

trembling hands dont loosen their grip on the knife, theres nothing left here for me to hold onto as a false sense of sanity, its all gone.
all of it is gone in the slightest slash of a razor.
happiness bleeds through the gaping hole in my throat, inching closer to silence.
we plea to be heard but all that is noticed is our helpless screams of hurt.
the scars fade and the blood dries, and even if i could be revived you wouldnt take the chance to supress my cries.
leave me be, let me lay here and inch closer to silence.
where i might for once be happy.
Written by MakeshiftHappiness
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