I sliced my wrist again.
Not to commit suicide, no.
I'm too much of a coward for that.
Red gashes spill blood, overlapping one another,
Like the back of an abused slave.
Won't let myself cry;
The pain is a breakthrough.
I'm not just made out of anger.
Gotta let them out somehow.
Funny how they got together hand-in-hand.
Scars on my wrist
Crisscross, nonstop.
Thought I was impervious to pain,
But now I'm an addict.
If pain was a drug,
Then I'm my own dealer.
Deliver it for free,
But maybe not because
I've sold my soul for it.
And things will never be the same.
The Pain Of Life
Diamond Rose
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 03/29/2022
Poet's note: People tell me that I don't express myself enough- I do, just not the way the expect.
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Poem topics: anger, funny, never, red, together, soul, thought, slave, pain, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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