Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site



Just something that explains a bit of what used to go on in my head. Sometimes I don't even want to be there.


Submitted:Apr 4, 2013    Reads: 37    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   


Shiny. Catching the light,

trying to ignore it until the dead of night.

everyones sleeping while I'm still wide awake,

figuring out how to cope and praying I dont get the shakes.

I'm crawling out of bed,

trying to clear my cloudy head.

I don't think it can be done,

It's been like this for months.

Stumbling to the bathroom

and locking up the door.

Finding my favourite seat,

sitting on the floor.

The blade feels cool and familiar.

I use it to suffocate their scorn.

My skin which was blank canvas

is now all wrecked and torn.

One stroke, two stroke, three stroke, four

it's just like painting but means something more.

Drip, drip, drip into the bathroom sink,

mixing with the water turning my blood pink.

Slipping back to bed,

I think I cut too deep.

My head hits the pillow,

passing out into a dark dreamless sleep.

Life isn't what you see on tv

or pictures some photographer took.

Everyone's scars tell stories

but my bodies a fucking book.





1

| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.