Possibly a story?My blood. Oh God my blood.
it flowed from every opened wound on my
body. I feel.. No.. scratch that. I AM broken.
My wrist, my leg i feel it. The bone. Protrding from
my skin. Like some malicous thing, coming to attack me.
Only... It is me. Well a part of me anyways..
I need a doctor.. And some morphine. Yes morphine, morphine
is the God's necter when you're in the condition i seem to be in.
I'm seeping blood from my pores.. Yes i need morphine.. Lots of it.
Maybe some more blood to.
Dying.. I. Am. Dying. There is no other
way to put it. I'm laying here, with glass stuck in every
piece of my skin, and i'm calm.. Maybe the clam before the storm..
Nahh i'm way to calm.. maybe some random person drove by
when i was still un-concious and was like, "Well that seems to
be a horrible car wreck. Oh poor girl.. here i'll just dope her
up with the ever so convient random syringe of numbing drug i have
in my jeans pocket." Damn people. I should be thankfull that the person
that may or maynot've s
To daddy.life has always been a game to me.To daddy.1 year ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I never wondered what i couldn't be.
You told me, "Be whatever you please."
And i felt like i brought the world to it's knees.
That one girl with a venom tounge
A beutiful song she always sung.
Weither it shall sting, or wheither it shall
sooth, she spoke the words, velvet smooth.
Red her hair. Much like her temper,
She was so stubborn. Couldn't help her.
She liked it that way. No one else
had room to stay.
Your 2 cents never spent.
Good advice always lent.
Trust me she did, she took it to heart.
And to her brain. She grew so smart.
That one little girl, you told to be,
anything and everything she ever pleased.
Grew up strong and grew up good.
Just like you all knew she would.
Percisly plasticShe climbed to the top of the tree.Percisly plastic1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A cut on her hand and a bruise on her knee.
Her dad was smiling, always happy.
Laughed at jokes, no matter how crappy.
Her mother perfect in all.
her blush and perfume made her a doll.
Percisly plastic. It's in her blood.
If she could change her life,
She certainly would.
The moon looks down, eyes full of sad.
The pity she feels angers her. Boils her blood
The tears drip down like a rain shower.
Falling down.. Making her feel trapped
Her body a tower.
The silver of her razor glitters in the
beams of the pityful moon.
And she knows, blissful pain is
Her skin redddens in protest,
as the razor glides over a vein the closest.
Just like the tear the blood drips down.
Coating and covering the once green
The wounds scream her secreat.
Even though she always planned to keep it.
The braclets and bangels hide the truth.
The truth that mom has broken bones and chipped a tooth.
The truth that dad never smiles at her, makes her w