Stitches closing star-shaped scars, wrists dotted with lines of black thread,

xxx that I wish I could delete, erase from all those meaningless texts

And hiding them from the last line of each note, concealing them in a smear of ink.

You don't want me, so I don't need you.


Three bleeding, bullet-wounded X's,

Torn down, shattered, like the heart I used to have,

Before you sent me into this nothingness, this state of unfeeling depression.

Death of all emotions, I don't give a damn what society thinks of these scars.


Scraping at those crosses the stitches form,

I don't know what to do anymore, just a girl lost in her own mind,

The world's worse place to be, becoming more unresponsive every day,

Not even brave enough for the "coward's way out."


                                               I'm going to die. C u in hell. xxx, Kat.


                         Goddamn this torture that cheap novels call "love."

The End

73 comments about this poem Feed