The Odds Stacked Against You

I don't really like this poem as much as I used to. It seems kinda pathetic in hindsight.

A blue web of veins hacked apart by a blade,

Silver sawing, drawing as much blood,

As it takes to make you notice,

Everything that you have done to make me hurt.

 

Pointed nails painted copper-orange-brown,

Scraping obsessively over all the hardening scars,

Tear them down like I Will Tear You Apart,

I will hurt you by destroying myself.

 

I am alive in this maze of zombie-clones,

They will not infect me, I won't wound them.

You are the one that they want, their prey,

Today I will not be in the shadow of your doubt,

Today the odds are stacked against You.

Author's Note

Unfortunately, there's no genre for "whiny crap" on this site. If there was I'd have filed the poem under that ;)

Reviews

[Rob Santana]

This one is probably one of your early ones. But I still like it. Reads different then what I have read from you. I can tell your style of writing was finding its place.

[KatDarkness]

Thank you for reading :)
Yeah, that was one of my earlier poems, which I am slightly ashamed of.

[Rob Santana]

Don't be ashamed we all have a beginning. We didn't come out of the womb with a pen and pad in our hands, haha.