Suicide

208 33 24
                                    

Hope; gone

A fire became my bone.

To struggle against any will,

yet a reason to kill.

Screams and yell,

pebbling to my ear.

Heart pounding

Brain thinking

Smelling something.

Eyes directed

Hands collected

A knife full of malice;

lingered to my face.

Every glide

Every slide

Blood dropped

Pain hopped

NocturnalWhere stories live. Discover now