When will the Blood Fall?
When?
When will my blood
splash
onto the white carpet?
When?
When will the pain
find its way
onto my wrist?
When?
When will I see
the horror
in their eyes?
When?
When will the knife
fall
from my shaking hand?
My wrist is smooth,
unmarked, unscared.
I smell no blood,
nor metal.
You took my knife,
and kept it
tucked it away.
When can I have it back?
Why?
Why do you care for me,
though I don't
care for myself.
Why?
Why do you fear
my blood,
and not your own?
Why?
Why did you
leave the knife
in my hands again?
Why?
Why did you save my life,
and take your own?
emo So depressing...
My Flowers
I pick them
from the lush grass
each day.
I throw them
into the stream
each day.
I let a few tears
fall
each day.
Each day,
each damn day,
I do this foolish,
optimistic,
childish thing.
Why?
Do I expect the flowers
to reach you?
Do I expect them
to flow
without interference
down that stream?
They'll get caught,
or wash up,
or be pulled out
before they even see you.
It's life.
I'm one of the flowers,
trying to reach you,
only to be stopped.
I guess that
I'll never accept the fact
that my flowers
will never reach you.
SQUEE! I'm in a writing mood today, and started THREE new fanfictions!!! *twirls in circles* I must find a beta before I put them up... *runs off to guild*
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