Scissors in the drawer
Scissors in my hand
Scissors scraping silently across
The roughed sand
Skin, they call it
It's not quite finished yet
My Scissors masterpiece
So I just scrape harder
Until I become deceased
Line after line
Hour after hour
Night after night
I sculpt
Blood pools
"Oops"
YOU ARE READING
Are You Satisfied? (Poetry)
PoetrySociety holds us down- in more ways then one. Its chains wrap around our arms and legs, pulling us farther away from our true selves. Tell me, are you satisfied? ⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️ Mention of Bl**d Mention of Su!cid3 Mention of r@p3
