She held the knife in her hand,
The silver blade glistened with promise,
Her whole body shook,
As she lowered it to her wrist,
Her face was blotched and red,
Her tears trailing down fast,
Her hair a tangled mess,
Her clothes hiding her scars,
But the true horror lay within,
How she screamed silently inside,
Her body a container of grief,
Where only nightmares reigned,
Her heart beating with rage,
Her mind filled with misery,
Her blood boiled with hate,
Her bones brittle and weak,
As the weapon neared her flesh,
She wondered if it was too late?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem