With knife of silver, blood be spilt, upon torn up flesh of pain-felt guilt. Be not tired, and be not sore, be not deemed fake, evermore. My wrist it bleeds, the blood doth slide, no more shall I breath, I kneal to you; Suicide.
Reason for writing:
I was having a bad day...this was written like a year ago, and writing what I felt was the only thing that helped. =P
Birth sign: Capricorn
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