Crooked Lines
The cuts across my wrist.
As I cut and I a fist.
The first one, then the second, next the third
My pain shall not be heard.
I cannot get it straight
As the cuts describe my fate
My fate, my future, my life.
They aren't enough.
I need something better, or stronger
My head is pounding as I make the cut longer.
Longer deeper better.
The tension is high and I am low
Crying out tears as the blood from my wrist flows.
I need the release the cuts aren't enough.
I'm done enough, enough, enough.
As I cut I'm shaking making crooked lines
As the blood burst out as a rappers rhymes.
The blood drops as I cry my last tear.
The noises around me surround me with fear.
I don't want anyone to know
Somehow I have got to leave I have to go.
My face is as sour as a very sour lime
I cannot control these crooked lines.