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Why Mock Me? I'm Already A Joke

Poetry By: Fyregx
Horror



It's Cold Against My Skin...


Submitted:Oct 3, 2009    Reads: 192    Comments: 18    Likes: 4   


I Hold A Knife In My Hand

Glares,

Sneering and up-turned noses

I Lower It slightly; It Is Now Closer To My Wrist

Hate,

Raised fists and nicknames

It Feel Cold Against My Skin

Catcalls,

Hate filled eyes and notes on my locker

A Smooth Red Line Appears, Followed By A Sharp Pain

Snarles,

Pushes and meaningful silences

It Feels Good, My Concentration Sharpens

Scratches,

Raised lips and sarcastic comments

Is That Cut Straight?

Laughter,

Bruises and ink lines drawn on wrists

This Time I Press Harder Keeping The Knife Steady

Mocking,

Spitting and cut like movements

I Check it; Perfect

Fists,

Raised voices and salty tears

Everything Goes black





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