Drip DropA Poem by Crimson ApplesBullied
The words cut her,
The mocking stabbed her; The pushes, the jeers, the snickers and whispers, They bruised, they scarred, and marred her for life. But now she doesn't need them. She cuts herself, starves herself, Knowing she deserves this stabbing pain; She pushes herself to get past the past, to get better and forget, but she can't, Because she remembers. Every shove, every word, and the looks, How it kills her. Now every night, She opens her drawer and pulls out a blade, And wishing the pain will fade, She slices her wrists, hoping one day she'll be brave, That she won't be useless like everyone says, That she'll be able to escape these worthless days. She's dying, she's hurting, but still she's alive, waiting for the right moment to arrive. She's a tiger without teeth, claws or a roar. She's a mute with clipped wings, unable to soar. Her bruises have faded, the pain has turned numb. Now she doesn't even know why she does it, But she knows she won't stop and so her blood drip drops.
© 2018 Crimson ApplesFeatured Review
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