Knives rip,
unwilling wrists.
As tongues touch
blades love.
As you solemnly bleed,
Crimson pours from sadistic veins.
Only wishing for
the perfect death.
The bloodiest...
The one that will hurt the most.
My friends say i’m Sadistic I say yes I am and i’m Proud of it!
This is truly graphic CL. And yet you live. That is the magic of a poem, or the skill of a magician, who is the poet who crafts death. After you come back, you will feel life more vividly as one of the undead, but not a zombie. There is a big difference, and only poets know this. Truly a skilled magician weaving magic from the sordid.
'Knives rip, unwilling wrists, as tongues touch, blades love' my favorite lines relatively short poem, especailly for you to make but still hold much pain, emotion, everything that you truely feel lovely poem! ~Bella
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Short but very very powerful, a truly great poem. May i invite you to read my new poem called, Return Of The Crow.