deepundergroundpoetry.com

My Song

My arm's a violin,
my blade the bow,
as I play my song of shame

I want to stop,
but know I can't.
I'm tired of playing this game.
Every night I go to bed
and cry myself to sleep.

I dream of death,
I dream so sad,
I dream of cuts too deep.

And when I wake
I always wish
I'd go to sleep for good.

Because I know that I want out,
but don't know if I could.
zoeyeatworld
Written by zoeyeatworld
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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