A forgotten blade on a dusty shelf
He used to chip away at her health.
Sawing away joy, just like her skin
Drops of blood show pain felt within.
Each day she grew weaker to its attacks.
Each day she grew closer, ready to snap.
Then one day it happened. The blade sawed too deep
At her skin and her happiness and put her to sleep.
She lay on the floor, blood spilled like the tears
She had been crying all of these years.
Smiles danced on her lips, a final goodbye
The thought of her death left her too happy to cry.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of the Soul
PoetryA collection of poems about self harm, depression, and other woes of the soul. (AN: I don't endorse self harm, depression and other mental illnesses at all. They are serious and terrible to go through and not a joke AT ALL, and if you need someone...
