Pain
Slit, slit slit,
easy flick of the wrist,
Seep down deep
where metal and skin meet
In my dreams
it's never what it seems
"Get over it,
quit throwing a fit",
they say confused
never knowing what it's like to be used
Pick, pick pick
at the emotions 'til they're slick
with sick devotions
Fight, fight, fight
in the middle of the night
Sweat pouring down my face
My efforts and struggling are nothing but waste
Hiding in these congested jars
are memories that are left in open scars
Copyright © Genia Labean | Year Posted 2022
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