I will write this poem on the wall
On the night before I fall
I take my hand and face my wrist
And from there I gave it a little twist
What roams in the mind is regret and sorrow
Will I be there to see the morrow?
I carve a bleeding rose from my flesh
And a broken heart without a mess
As tears roll down the pale face
I then knew I was living in a maze
I use my blood to narrate my story
From where it began to being lonely
Moving on to the scenes of agony
The pain and suffering present since morning
Alone I lay in my pool of shame
Without a being to take the blame
Sadly did I live and lie
And gladly did I leave and die.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC
I will write this poem on the wall
On the night before I fall
I take my hand and face my wrist
And from there I gave it a little twist
What roams in the mind is regret and sorrow
Will I be there to see the morrow?
I carve a bleeding rose from my flesh
And a broken heart without a mess
As tears roll down the pale face
I then knew I was living in a maze
I use my blood to narrate my story
From where it began to being lonely
Moving on to the scenes of agony
The pain and suffering present since morning
Alone I lay in my pool of shame
Without a being to take the blame
Sadly did I live and lie
And gladly did I leave and die.
