i look at my wrists now
pulsing, calling for relief
screaming at me
to open the pores and cells
begging for the mercy
of self-pity
they seem so sad
so broken and deformed
the blood inside
fights to run rampant
the wrists shake nervously
they are looking at me
i try to ignore them
i try to overpower their demands
to save myself for another day
until my resistance gives way
and the wrists win
Copyright 2003 Loser Johnson
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/2948/20831 on Wednesday December 03rd, 2008 02:03 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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