Unnamed

by Sara   Nov 16, 2004


I brought the blade to my wrist again,
The sound of the music died,
I stared at my scars,
Reminding me of my past mistakes,
I pressed the cold blade against my skin,
Horrible memories flooding back all at once,
I close my eyes,
Dropping the knife on my lap the music returns,
I am still alive...
For one more night at least.

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Latest Comments

  • 20 years ago

    by Sara

    ya.. it is exactly like that. It happens alot but I don't cut anymore, I got help.

  • 20 years ago

    by LoneWalker

    This is a good poem. its real deep....and sad.