Cut.

A mess of red, crimson.
Dark scars criss-cross
New cuts bleed.
Clean skin broken.

An outlet for frustration.
Cuts into body
Until it bleeds, weeping.
Scarred for life.

Months later, thinking.
Regretting: too late.
Scars fading, now brown.
But there for life.

The End

169 comments about this poem Feed