Fingerprints

Another of my earlier poems.

Her eyes so dull.

Her hair so bland.

She has no soul--

No fingerprints on her hands.

When she looks to the light

and feels the syringe...

Her bloodshot eyes,

Now a purplish tinge.

She lies still;

Now blind to life.

Can she even feel

the cut of the knife?

She's being sliced open.

Can she even speak?

Three words spoken,

"Please kill me."

Reviews

[Phill Oz O'fee]

Very dark … almost a stereotypical description of people with dysthymia; who may feel that it's normal to always feel depressed. As far as they know, they've always been this way, and they just carry on with their lives - not feeling good about themselves, often getting irritable and angry, and having appetite and sleeping problems.
And although I found the write poignantly heart-rending, I’m tempted to say; if this is a reflection of a friend or yourself, they (or you) need to talk to someone professional.
Bless …

[UponTheBrink]

No, it wasn't about anyone in particular. It was just something I came up with out of the blue on a sleepy day when it was raining. Thank you for the concern and the review though. :)

[June Rose]

I found this poem to be amazingly beautiful and really tugs at the heart.

[UponTheBrink]

Thank you very much. ^-^