#knifes
something is draging me
it's so magnetic
my hands are falling
from the heaven to the hell
scissors and knifes are my
best friends
perfectly made by your hands
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
Things with wings
So free
Go wherever
Do whatever they please
Just free
But my wings
Were cut
With the knifes
Of my friends
These holes in my back
Act as my reminder
That even friendship
Has a price
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 12:25 PM UTC
I’m surrounded by white noise.
All I can comprehend
Starts with knifes for girls
And ends in flowers for boys.
Elders overtly condescend
The slightest error,
I single number ends
The brightest of lives
Snuffed our in terror.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 3:39 AM UTC
Your mother spoon-feeds you happiness.
But at some point
the happiness becomes rotten.
So she cuts your meat in pieces
and feeds it to the therapist.
In hope of answers.
But she will never find the knifes
cutting slowly in your mind.
For you are hopeless.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
Daylight is over rated,
showing the weakness
that caresses the darkness.
Where strength is whoever walks,
when the sunrise knifes
at every vein of existence.
Haemorrhaging the beauty of silence,
daylight is the noise of an
awaking purgatory on life.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
Fresh sin. Sweaty bodies sway. Deamonds swim in the rich liquid that burns down my throat. Minutes evaporate in the that smoke leaves my lips. Innocence dies. ***** knifes lay rusting in the sink. Shattered dreams cut open my feet as I pull myself up.
Oh sweet, sweet, sweet fresh sin. Young sin. Godless sin. The spark that ignites and turns all happiness to ash.
Mistakes remain etched in my memory, like a permanent tattoo. Eternal flame replaces the friendly shoulder.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
Your soft skin is tearing,
Your voice is cracking, trying to sing.
Your hands are shaking, cold chillings runs down your spine.
No escape,
No place to hide.
Inside, you're dying, fighting for the smallest sliver of hope.
You died in that cocoon, you never became a butterfly.
Knifes are ordinairy now, you know them all too well.
As they cut and damage your resolve, you suddenly know it and it occurs to you...
Death is coming for you, it talks, whispers even:
''Go back to sleep my child, you've sufferd enough...''
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC