The blade is my only real friend.
Though it's the thing that kills me,
It is also the thing that keeps me alive.
My skin is the paper,
My blood is the ink,
Hurtful words are my inspiration.
And the blade is my pen.
As an addict with a pen,
I write on my canvas
Which is covered in red.
Pouring my heart out to the ink
That spills on the ground.
The blade is my only salvation from this world.
And my mind is where words stay untold.
Addict with a pen,
Chained to reality.
Suffering from silent words.
Breaking into the contents,
Keep on falling down.
YOU ARE READING
An Amount Of Short Stories And Poems
Poetryjust a short story. Okay well idk i should call it a short story. I'ts not even like a story. Okay fine let's call them toughts. No wait..oh well someone message me if they know what this is.
