Utensils Of Death

by Flea   Oct 24, 2004


I sit here, with my cutlery of death in hands,
A blade in my left and sharp scissors in the right,
I take a slash at my wrist with all my might,
The blood runs blue down my arm & drips red on the floor,
There isn't enough blood, there isn't enough pain, I need more,
I dig deep into my wound with my scissors,
Then i start hacking,snipping,bleeding,dying,
My arm is deep purple and a shade of white,
I scream in silence at this sight,
I shorten in breath, in blood, in life
I'm gone for good
I love you all Good-Bye

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Latest Comments

  • 19 years ago

    by Eibutsina

    Hey hun! This piece brought such saddness upon me hey? If you ever feel like that again please email me before you do something silly - i would hate to see such talent go to waste!
    Great poem tho very emotional and descriptive with a hella original title!

    Luv Eirisa

  • 20 years ago

    by goot

    If anything, this is proof for you to stay on your feet and keep scribbling and tapping at the keyboard. This poem reminds me of my death attempt. It reminds me that i hate my mother because she saved me, it reminds me of what i wanted.
    Now, i have jus inspired myself to write a quick poem, spur of the moment

    Keep scribbling girly!

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