My End Poem by Samantha Rak
My End
One, two, three
This is just the beginning
Four, five, six
I got this far last time
Seven, eight, nine
Far, yet it doesn't seem far enough
Ten, eleven, twelve
The farthest I've gone
Have I gone too far?
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen
I can't feel my hand anymore
The blade drops from my fingers
As the blood spills from my body
I'm so used to watching it run from my veins
It has become a calming sight
But it moves quickly this time
But I still pick up the blade
Once shining
Now dull
But sharp as ever
My lovely blade
My best friend
My lover
My end
Cheers :)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/9/2024 4:37:09 AM # 1.0.0.1119
(((Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst [self-]slaughter! (Ham.1.2.131-132) Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand. (Cym.3.4.76-78) - - ))) Suicidal attempts enrage God, and the soul stay unblessed till eternity...all religions say it...People with bright potential should only consider what is best and what is positive in them...Girls should use knives'blades in kitchen for COOKING, and CUTTING FRUIT, VEGETABLES! ! ! that's it! ! ! you write very good! ! !