I carry these books
holding my life
inside them are all the times
I cut myself with a knife.
Written on paper
words of sorrow
many times when I thought
there wouldn't be a tomorrow.
Hours spent writing
confessing my sins
the dreams of death
written over and over again.
Poetry is my passion
it helps me deal
these papers relieve me
from what I feel.
I express everything I experience
it's all printed on paper
I just pray that my problems
will soon turn to vapor.
Books and envelopes
fills with my past,
relationships and love
that never last.
Letters of suicide
tears of abuse
blood tasted
drug use.
Words of love
that I cant forget
scars that remind
happiness doesn't fit.
Etched in my skin
I'm dying without you
f u c k this life, and a heart
believe me it's true.
A book of my own blood shed
poems written in red
a exchange of words
that shouldn't have been said.
Memories that haunt
bruises that won't disappear
flashbacks of childhood horrors
that every kid fears.
Names from people who judge
pieces of my heart
break ups and make ups
that tore me apart.
Screams from inside
all is combined
but out of all the words
the pain can't be explained.
