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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Dark · #1435208
A poem of truth faced head-on in my not-too-distant past
The razor be my best friend
sitting along my fragile skin;
resting ever so carefully along my wrist.
Praising the time
when pressed so hard
slicing deeply
into my fragile wrist.
Blood flows freely,
draining away my life-force.
This beach of flesh,
sliced neatly apart
painting a blood red portrait
of the puddle growing quickly
on the bathroom floor.
Where are the Gods?
Where are the Pearly Gates of Heaven?
All I see is an icy darkness
in which I drift...
in which I drift...
onwards, into eternity.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1435208