(A/N: I wrote this poem very close to my birthday (so this past January). I was going through a very rough patch of my life during this time, so I'd appreciate no rude/offensive/judgmental commentary on any of my posts in this series on my account.)
(A/N Cont.: My coping mechanism has been, and probably always be, writing. Poems are easier for me to write when I have a lot of emotions built up. I know they sometimes are very shitty. But I'd like to see you try and write poetry while tears are streaming down your face and you can't find a way to stop them. Fuck off if you're here to just judge, please.)
One cut, two cut, three cut, four,
Blood is dripping to the floor.
Two more cuts, now at six,
Needles and pencils are other "tricks".
Seven cuts, two more, now at ten,
Picking up the razor blade once again.
Blood's so pretty, thick and red,
I want to send the bullet straight right my head.
My cheeks are stained with tears of pain,
My emotions are beasts too strong to train.
I am hurting every day,
Just serve me my heart on a metal tray.
As I lay upon my bed,
I simply wish that I was dead.
YOU ARE READING
Trashy Shit
PoetryI will be putting poems here. They will have emotion poured into them. Yes, I understand my writing skills are very shitty, but I've actually put a lot of effort into these. If you fucking judge me for how I feel and who I am, I will actually fuckin...
