Pain shot through my wrist as I cut deeply to forget the pain
I love the burn
I live for the tingly in my arm that I get every time my razor blade makes my pretty little wrist
Running out of room though
So soon it will be my legs again
I can't seem to win
Because with every cut
And with ever new picture painted on my wrist
There always seems to be another twist
YOU ARE READING
The Never Ending Battle
PoetryThis is yet again another one of my books filled with poems. On love and abuse and pain and things like that. It is a trigger for emotion so read at your own risk. Okay? okay.
