Cut, Cut, Cut Poem by Jacob Moore
Cut, Cut, Cut
Cut Cut Cut,
Visions of bloody wrists flash in my head.
Cut Cut Cut,
I start to puncture and soon I will be dead.
Cut Cut Cut,
I sit in silence and wait.
Cut Cut Cut,
I think of what I've done although it's already too late...
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/24/2024 1:33:34 AM # 1.0.0.1119
