The Knife

This feeling overcoming me...
It's filled my eyes, making it hard to see
I've wished for death in my pointless life
It's been too long, I resort to a knife
It's twinkling blade glints in my eye
It's flawless edge, will help me die
As I create a strong, shaking fist
I tip the handle toward my wrist.
The blade begins to penatrate the skin
As the smoothness of my blood flows thin
Trickling down from my neck and hands,
Blood pools on the ground is where I land
No one knows, nore do they care
My glassed eyes continue to stare
Nothing moves around my bloody head
Everything is silent... because I'm dead


Poetry Main