Depression dangles so close,
It will be there if I just give up hope.
It would be so easy to let it win,
To just give in.
I already don't sleep,
Who would notice if I didn't eat?
Who would care,
If my wrists weren't bare?
I could give my wrists pretty little patterns,
And scars that look like bracelets.
Maybe even use my blood,
To give them some color.
I could be the next great painter,
With my wrists as my canvas.
It wouldn't take much,
To draw a little blood.
Maybe I'll hurt in a way,
That makes the real pain go away.
With my heart ticking like a clock,
Maybe I can make my time stop.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Poetry
PoetryThis is a book full of poetry I wrote myself, so I ask that no one steals it. As you can tell by the cover and the name it is dark so don't complain that I didn't warn you. Although I still write poetry and will update it, most of the poems are olde...
