No Name For This One.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a short poem that I wrote a while back.

Submitted: February 21, 2012

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Submitted: February 21, 2012

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I sat down on the Grass,

Outside the place I call home,

My eyes glazed over,

As a sudden wave of emotion,

Rushed through my mind.

Everything Hit me at once.

And I couldn't comprehend what i was feeling,

All I knew is that it hurt,

I felt like passing out,

Finally letting the deep blue,

Pull me all the way under.

I longed for the comfort of the cold metal,

The assurance that it brought me.

I couldn't stop thinking about it then.

I wished I could feel the sharp edge,

Slicing through my skin

The temporary sting as the metal,

Opened my flesh.

And that warm scarlet rush,

Start to seep out of the wound

I wish I could smell the flow,

The distinct smell of rust and salt

I loved the way the smell burned my nose

How I could almost taste it in my mouth

Thinking about this made me walk into the house

Grab that cold metal surface from its special place

On the shelf under the bucket

I gripped the blade in my hand

and brought it to my wrist

I pressed hard and gasped at the pain

I closed my eyes and pulled the blade

across my flesh

letting the scarlet liquid flow out of my arm

and make crimson splotches on the white of my carpet

I giggled and tilted my head back

Smelling the wonderful smell of my blood,

I had completely lost it

I just knew it

I couldn't stop this time

I wouldn't.

I pulled the blade across my skin

In a different spot

I screamed at the pain

I licked my lips and clenched my eyes shut

As I sliced my skin,

all over.

I cried.

But I cried tears of joy.

I didn't bandage myself that night

I just laid on my floor

and let my blood sleep out of my wrist

I closed my eyes as I felt my soul

start to slowly ebb out of my body

I blacked out at that moment.

~

I woke up in an inferno.

I knew,

I had finally,

Made it to my real home.

Where I was supposed to be

Here in this fiery inferno

You may call it hell,

By I, Davina Rebecca Lynn Porter,

Call it

Home.


© Copyright 2019 DavinaLynn. All rights reserved.

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