I dream of slicing the blue ropes in my pale wrists.
Dividing the skin that keeps the gore inside.
Letting the claret flow like spilled oil.
Knowing for once, I would find serenity.
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Author:
SaaskiiaBonita (
Offline) - Published: July 26th, 2026 02:42
- Comment from author about the poem: Please note I am healthy and happy, I use poetry to express how I am feeling when my OCD is making me feel at my lowest.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
That sounds like mental torture.
I am glad you are okay x
It is the poetic wording and allegory of such wording that gets the fave by making a horrendous act a piece of art. Well painted this picture of self immolation.
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