Y Saturday, November 11, 2006
you pick up the familiar shape of your pen knife,
hold it just a little over your wrist.
and with a swift movement,
slit the delicate skin open.
you watch,
as your own blood drips,
making a bright red stain
on the white formica table .
you think 'ow, that hurt'
but you have no idea how much
hurt I've been through the past few days.
I sit on my bed,
the silence deafening.
as I clutch my pillow,
so tight that my knuckles turn stark white,
willing myself not to cry.
but the tears come anyway .
just like they always do .
If I had my way,
I'd never get over you.
Today's the day,
I pray that we make it through .
Make it through the fall,
make it through it all .
deep?
i noe.
i got it frm a blog.
whoa.
vulnerable;
Y
11:07 PM