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grace-nottinghamPoems
Cut, cut, cut. This is true. There is no other Way through— Feel my head. It is heavier than God’s, An Iberian sculpture Jam-packed with ***** Misery blackens it. Sweet Lady, I want a Picasso smile. No one comprehends! I am all alone, A Buddhist bud Rising, falling, rising Choking on its Indelible, sick scents. Those silver hooks Cast nastiness, Smirking “We got her again”. O heart, You fill me with irony: I cannot adore someone Unless they adore me. You never do me good. I’d throw you out If I could, Sitting around Bored as a Leopard, Syncopating Satan : You amuse me to death. Pretty boy, Dumb girl, Beaten mother, Hateful Father, Make me numb. My skin is a sky Of Samurais. That is that, that is that. **** me. I won’t come back.
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Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
Cut
Cut, cut, cut. This is true. There is no other Way through— Feel my head. It is heavier than God’s, An Iberian sculpture Jam-packed with ***** Misery blackens it. Sweet Lady, I want a Picasso smile. No one comprehends! I am all alone, A Buddhist bud Rising, falling, rising Choking on its Indelible, sick scents. Those silver hooks Cast nastiness, Smirking “We got her again”. O heart, You fill me with irony: I cannot adore someone Unless they adore me. You never do me good. I’d throw you out If I could, Sitting around Bored as a Leopard, Syncopating Satan : You amuse me to death. Pretty boy, Dumb girl, Beaten mother, Hateful Father, Make me numb. My skin is a sky Of Samurais. That is that, that is that. **** me. I won’t come back.
About cutting/self harm and whatever comes along with it
Written by
grace-nottingham
New Zealander
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
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