Wading Pools

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The sharp sleep. My mind dwells on the beautiful consequence of contact.

It is all so beautiful.

Submitted: September 01, 2014

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Submitted: September 01, 2014



The sewing pin sleeps under the desk, on my right. I try to ignore it. But I feel it biting into my skin, the bubble of blood surfacing on my wrist. I feel the pain pour out. I feel release.

And it is beautiful.

The knife dreams quietly in my top drawer. I know it is there, though I try to forget about it. But I feel its teeth dragging across my skin, splitting it open. I see the fountain of blood crying from my veins.

The thick red pools.

And tears burn my cheeks.

Because it is beautiful.

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