Cut Poem by Aimee Nell
Cut
Hold it.
Cherish it.
Cut it out.
It doesn't matter.
Cut out everything.
Dying inside.
Cut until there's nothing left.
A hollow shell of what I was.
A shadow of what we were.
Now cut the vein.
And I drown,
In a river of blood.
Lost in the current.
Dying outside.
Skin turns white.
Blood flows down..
Skin turns red.
Lips turn blue.
Dead.
Friday, March 21, 2008
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4/23/2024 9:48:34 AM # 1.0.0.1119
