bloodshed

poem about self injury/ cutters

Blood shed
On the cold, lonely ground
So guilty and ashamed.
Hidden in the shadows of her imperfections.
No one understood the pain she felt
Or the tears she cried.
Life had been unkind.
Beaten,
Her mind,
Her body,
And her innocent soul.
The smooth blade felt so right
And she was so willing.
Misery was now her true friend.
He had taken all hope, happiness,
And innocence.
He tore it from her.
As the bright crimson spilled from her wrists
To the floor,
The shattered little girl was eased from the pain
Once more.




Misha
W.