Slits of The Broken
The knife is cool to the touch,
It slips beneath the surface,
Blood drips downwards,
She closes her brown eyes,
And inhales a deep breath,
She doesn’t long to die,
But to live,
Yet the blood keeps spilling,
No one seems to see,
As everything becomes so lost in the haze,
The people she reaches out to seem to slip through her fingers,
They’ve all become ghosts floating past her,
It’s there the longing,
And sense of loss,
So is the blood spilling out of her arm,
The marks crossing paths,
Each a heavy reminder,
Each a regret,
As she fights for control,
The ability to chose her own course in this life,
And to her everlasting regret the blood spills forth,
Her hands clasped together,
She hopes for remorse and forgiveness,
From the ones she loves,
And the lord above,
But most of all from herself,
The blood has dried but it lays etched in her mind,
As she curls herself into a tight ball,
The tears they spill faster and faster,
For the regret that she must embrace,
And finally let go,
For the blood has dried.
© Copyright 2016 o0oBrokenAngelo0o. All rights reserved.
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