|
Post by jessiree on Nov 26, 2005 17:06:11 GMT -5
she sat there tears running down she smeared them away as the mascara dripped down all alone in an empty room she sat there feeling so alone on the wooden floor now flooded with tears she looked at the white walls as she continued to drift with fear so she took the rasor as the sun made it glem next she took her hand into the air then looked at her vein it seemed to be the only color in the whole scene the suddenly her tears stop their fall as she wished it were a dream seconds later you would think all was changed but... as the white paint mixed with blood and faded to pink still she laid there all alone in a room with mascara still smeared and still so alone
|
|
|
Post by Jeni on Nov 26, 2005 20:08:20 GMT -5
This is so desciptive, i loved it, I have been a cutter since the end of fourth grade ( i am in tenth now) and i thought i had stopped, i was doing so good, over 2 months and no razor, and then all it took was one bad night, and the only thing i had left to turn to was my trusty razor blade,
thank you for joining, and for posting this tragic, wonderful write,
I can relate
~Love ~Jeni
|
|
|
Post by americanclassicx3 on Nov 28, 2005 17:38:43 GMT -5
i love how this poem flows, its really really good!! you have a lot of talent! =)
|
|
|
Post by jessiree on Nov 28, 2005 19:06:32 GMT -5
thankyou all for your comments
|
|
|
Post by bedofrazors on Dec 4, 2005 9:31:36 GMT -5
i love this poem ...i can relate to how you are feeling...i was a cutting since i was in the sixth grade and i am currently in the 12th grade...i thought i had stopped ...i hadnt cut for 6 months ..then one day i got the urge and couldnt resists....
simoine
|
|
|
Post by *GoThIc_FairY* on Dec 4, 2005 21:52:28 GMT -5
I really like this poem! gREat job. Keep writing ~ I would love to read some more of ur work!
|
|
|
Post by arcanephantom on Dec 25, 2005 7:05:54 GMT -5
then looked at her vein it seemed to be the only color in the whole scene i love that little excerpt in the poem. Cunning. i've been there so many times, i couldn't even begin to count. i also liked where you talked about the white paint mixing with blood. I loved that. great poem. tragically beautiful. deidre
|
|