I bring the blade to my wrist,
Ready to cut open slits.
The blood falls to the floor,
I see red and nothing more.
I slit again,
I stare down at what had been.
It drips,
I cut,
When rips,
You see nothing but.
The blood is red,
For words gone unsaid.
I cried the tears,
With less fears.
I see what you don't,
You say stop but i won't.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem