Slicing Pain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a poem.

Submitted: April 28, 2011

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Submitted: April 28, 2011

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This world.
My dreams.
A love long lost.
Broken glass on the floor.
I pick up a shard.
I put it to my wrist.
The slicing edge is cold.
I wonder how it looks.
With deep red blood.
Dripping across its surface.
Lightning fast movement.
The blood.
All over the glass.
On the floor.
In a puddle.
The gash.
Now in my wrist.
The deep red blood.
Streaks across the shard.
It’s beautiful.
My screams.
Permeate the building.
People know.
What I have done.
I do this.
Every day.
No one knows.
How, to me.
This slicing pain.
It feels so good.
I start.
Laughing.
No one knows.
My life.
 This pain.
Dreams and love.
Shatter like glass.
All over the floor.
I pick up a shard.
I decide.
It should.
All end here.
I look up.
I see.
A face.
An angel.
Glowing brightly.
Illuminating.
This dark world.
This dark life.
My dreams and love.
Shattered.
All over the floor.
Dripping with blood.
I see.
The better parts.
The lights.
That now.
Illuminate.
This now bright world.
I decide.
To live.
My life.
Should go on.
Now I am.
Happy.
The shattered glass.
My broken heart.
My torn dreams.
No longer.
Are they in pieces.
The miasma.
Visibly slinks.
Away.
The slicing pain.
No longer.
My first resort.
Now I can.
Breathe.
The slicing pain.
Retreats.
To the corners.
Of my conscience.
I feel.
Relieved.
I have.
A reason.
To live.


© Copyright 2020 Cameron Johnson. All rights reserved.

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