One, two, three, four
Slit on wrists, blood on the floor
Five, six, seven, eight
She looks pale; she lost some weight
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve
It's been a while since she's been herself
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen
All she wanted was to be seen
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty
The chair she usually sat at, now empty
It took her up to twenty
Her life was a mess
Twenty cuts had killed her
They wished she was back from the dead
-J
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Inside The Mind | Poetry
PoetryA collection of poetry, unsent letters, and other writings from the author's mind #1 in poetrycollection (April 2024)
