Salt To The Wound Poem by Austin Rush

The pain is so deep.
If I travel, I fall,
This hill is too steep.
I wake to find,
A knife inside my knee.
But no one is around,
There's nothing left to scream.
The gash too deep,
The blood it's friend.
All I needed,
Was to count to ten.
As I counted,
I couldn't help but notice,
The color it left,
This, he (The Devil/Satan) showed us.
As black as night,
As pale as day.
I did bleed out,
What can you say?
The pain was too deep,
It was too hard to handle.
I am now counting sheep,
It's all apart of the scandal.