Critize Me

There down yonder
Written in blood
Are all the dead dreams
There to portray
All the dead dreams
That just wont go away
There is the girl with the body so clean
Except for her wrists...
But what does that mean?
The pain that she goes through ripping the seams
Leaving her heart dangling by strings
There in the bathroom on the tile floor
Her and the blade...
Locked and closed door
Looking at the new marks which she made
Counting them out
There are now twenty-three
Im wishing and hoping that somewhere about
Those people wont critize me

Poem by musicaddiction1026

Comments