When I sliced that tender flesh
Bleeding still, so ever fresh
It was not that I tried to die
But because I wanted to feel alive
So save me from this aching death
One of hatred and harsh breath
Suffering on the inside
My bleeding heart, now bleeding thighs
My throat choked and wailed
As my sadness was veiled
So help them, and help us all
Whose ripped skin is a pleading call
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
When I sliced that tender flesh
Bleeding still, so ever fresh
It was not that I tried to die
But because I wanted to feel alive
So save me from this aching death
One of hatred and harsh breath
Suffering on the inside
My bleeding heart, now bleeding thighs
My throat choked and wailed
As my sadness was veiled
So help them, and help us all
Whose ripped skin is a pleading call
I know I'm sharing a lot of depressing poems lately. Do not be concerned. These are all my old poems from when I was depressed or I'm writing from past experiences. I just recently have gotten the courage to share them. Love you all :)