I cut my wrists til' they bleed and have endless lines of red raw skin hanging in chunks. I cut those feelings out that I felt and drained them out of my body, through my blood. I made a puddle then a river and a lake, and of course an ocean of blood at last. I jumped in and swam to the bottom of the pit. There was fire and oil and a tar pit in the center of my blood river. And the farther I dived, the more pain I left behind. And in my river of blood tears sat a throne in the middle of the tar pit. Where I'd stay forever and reign feeding my ocean more blood more guts and more of my own disdain.
Except I woke up and realized it was all just a dream.
YOU ARE READING
Dim.
PoetryTired of trying to be everything. Trying to be perfect. Wrong paths and wrong people and missed opportunities. Am I letting my mental illness take over my life? A look into the mind of a BPD, Anxiety ridden woman. With no identity but her Panic. W...
