||[Mar. 23rd, 2005|06:33 pm]
New to the community, obviously.|
My poems are the very definition of amatuer teenage angst. (^^;) So do feel free to criticize them.
Slithering through your vertebrae
Like self-inflicted pain.
Try to wash it off, but it always leaves a stain.
A stain of death;A stain of red;
The stain of spiteful things unsaid.
Like a madness it consumes,
Picking, slicing, at the wounds
That you yourself have planted there
Before you learned life was unfair.
Twisted, shaken, and confused
Betrayed, slain, and abused.
But the worst wound by far of all
Was the knowledge of who made you fall.
Not him, not her, not any one
But you, my friend, you are the one