I grasp the shiny sharp blade tightly,
I hold it at an angle ready to slip through.
The very tip points itself toward my skin,
It's almost ready to puncture a thin line.
It's like a compass pointing north,
North of where it attacks, always.
I can't have so much pour out,
Too much will put me under arrest.
It will cuff me in handcuffs,
Cut off my circulation cause they're tight.
There's only one key to break them,
Stitch the wound to draw the blood to stop.
The dark red crimsoness eerily forms,
It takes on a shape, a life of me.
The blood trickles down my arm,
Like water at the end of a toothbrush.
It goes onto the floor and the rest of your arm,
Slowly it makes it's way, slowly; ever slow.
The coldness of my hand draws it numb,
Only from poor circulation.
My veins and bones work proper,
The blood stream disfunctions.
It's like a big wide paper cut waiting,
Only for a bad disease to enter.
No band aid and no words will heal,
What this has made itself to be.
Dream, my dear, dream it will go away.
The dreamcatcher will keep neccesary fear,
To continue on; to do it again and over.
You don't wanna stop, who does?
It is horrible fun, undescribable.
Try it and see if you like it.
No life back guarantee, though, not here.
It doesn't take courage, you could even be
A coward of the scared, non-brave
Kind if you will. Here is the end. |
