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A paper full of cuts

by @maha-salman

Along my Ivory skin, the drops of cerise spreads - delicate tendrils forming beyond each space, Words of hate marr my sheet as I press the object drawing blood. With each laceration forming on pearl, a small tear escapes my eyes. The pain is too much yet I have to bear it to show that I'm alive. And I form the scarlett words on my pale canvas as I cry. My frame spreads with stone, a newly formed statue, as I watch the Crimson ink spreading. As it grows larger, black spots form and visions become blurred. The reality and memories merge as one and I form more words with my pen. horrible worthless liar ugly And as I hear each voice screaming in my head, my hands rush as cuts become deeper. A whole sonnet of hate drowns my heart and fresh salt tears are created. Lines tear at sheets, jagged curls are formed. And with an anchor at each eye I look down on what I have made. And my tool of blood, my ebony pen silently replaces the steel knife I had. And a small smile is shone as I raise my new creation. A paper full of cuts.
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Written by
maha-salman
For You?
Written by
maha-salman
Published
Jan 26, 2015
Time
2m
Notes

For me writing poetry is like cutting. Except writing poetry is a relief

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