Lies in a bath tub,
filled to the brink.
He has tried to go under,
He has tried to sink.
He maneuvers his fingers slowly,
To the edge of the blade.
His goal is to only,
Make the memories fade.
But not much will change,
The more he will suffer.
Lets try again?
One cut after another.
Warm blooded,
The water turns red.
He is still alive,
He is not dead.
His hope is religion,
His strength he must trust.
Take all the bad memories,
Turn then to dust...
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
Lies in a bath tub,
filled to the brink.
He has tried to go under,
He has tried to sink.
He maneuvers his fingers slowly,
To the edge of the blade.
His goal is to only,
Make the memories fade.
But not much will change,
The more he will suffer.
Lets try again?
One cut after another.
Warm blooded,
The water turns red.
He is still alive,
He is not dead.
His hope is religion,
His strength he must trust.
Take all the bad memories,
Turn then to dust...
Request permission to use this poem