Bleeding
Those hurtful names,
Etched on your wrist with a razor,
Each and every one has its’ own,
Deeper and deeper they get,
This one won’t stop bleeding.
They found laughter in your pain,
Whatever you did,
It was never enough. Nobodys listening.
No escape. No Sanctuary.
No rest from these wicked games.
Scarlet life seeps from your wrist,
Running the race of life, but
Coming to an early finish.
You fall and there you lay,
Bleeding.
~ by garypage on February 16, 2008.
Posted in poetry
Tags: bleeding, blood, deeper, enough, escape, etched, fall, horrible, hurtful, laughter, listen, names, never, no, pain, razor, rest, sanctuary, scarlet, stop, wicked, wrist
wow, that was a very sad and disturbing poem. I would love to add it to my poetry site I started, or add some of your other poems. Peace.