I hear them.
They’re talking about me.
Whispering soft, hurtful things,
Things meant to hurt, to anger, but
It doesn’t get to me,
It doesn’t hurt me.
I gaze into the darkness,
Deep dark thoughts enter my head,
The pain blurs everything
The world is a dark color, but
It doesn’t get to me,
It doesn’t hurt me.
I look at the razor,
Sharp, shiny, ready
It longs for me and I long for it
It’s meant to hurt, to scar, but
It doesn’t get to me,
It doesn’t hurt me.
Cold, hard metal on me,
I can no longer feel anything,
Neither seeing, nor touching
The life drips out of me,
I’m ready…
It doesn’t get to me,
It doesn’t hurt me.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.06 seconds at 5:00am on Nov 25, 2024 via server WEBX1.