The razor blade kissed his skin
And he sank to his knees
On the floor alone,
As it's always been
The boy who was forced to wear long sleeves
A knot in his stomach
But no tears in his eyes
He was already dead inside
He bandaged his arm
Wishing he would no longer bleed
He shakes his head
At his silent pleas
Wishing he'd wake up dead
He's married to the blade
And it kisses him goodnight each night
He's sleeping less and less
The thoughts keeping him awake
Stoic, but not asleep
The razor blade kissed his skin
And he layed on the floor
Alone with his deadly thoughts
His long sleeves weren't needed anymore
He'd finally succeeded
But there were no shouts of hooray
No one deserved to feel as alone as he did
No one should have to resort to such a painful escape
YOU ARE READING
Isabelle's Poetry Journal (a continuation of Homesick Angel)
PoesiMy name is Isabelle I am 15 years old (not my real age.) I am a "Homesick Angel" at least that's what I'm told I am called the people like me are called the people who are depressed suicidal empty numb those people they're just trying to go home T...
