As i sit here, blade in hand
And salty tears streaking my face,
I ask myself, what happened
That lead to my fall from grace?
Was it him? Or his filthy touch
That he defiled me with and stained my skin?
Or the anger, the sadness or the fear
That always seem to build within
Crimson liquid, it pours and I think
As I lie here waiting to be dead
How long it would take them to notice
My sheets were once white, not red
YOU ARE READING
poems by me
PoetryJust a bit of poetry I've written over a few years so dont judge it too harshly. Plus it does get better as you go on (in my opinion). PLEASE LOOK AT THIS BEFORE READING!!!! If you know me in real life and choose to read this please dont show people...
