Hide behind the blood,
The disease that eats you from the inside;
She swore to you,
She promised, she promised.
The knife made perfect slits;
The blood, beady and red,
Relief felt so good.
The end came,
You couldn’t take it;
Only nineteen,
But already dying from a disease you couldn’t help,
But this one you could control.
One last, perfect line,
That would end it all;
All the pain and suffering,
That would all go away.
And the blood poured from your throat,
She then realized what she had done.
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Hannah Horror's poems.
Pretty much mostly poetry that I write when I'm bored.
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hannahzillaa_
Community Member |
