'I'm gonna draw a picture,
a picture with a twist,
I'll draw it with a razor blade,
I'll draw it on my wrist'.
And when my soul bleeds out,
and my shirt is soaked and stained,
you can read me like a book,
you can see all of my pain.
Feel the dripping of my blood,
the thick red flow,
feel sadness gushing from my veins,
dark red and slow.
The razor sets my arm on fire,
the burning and the stinging,
but I push the blade deeper,
It stops the raucous singing.
Voices sing 'more, more, more'...
bleed dark red,
then my world starts spinning,
as they dance around my head.
They sing 'more, more, more'
bleed dark red,
I know they will not stop the singing,
until I bleed dark and dead.
I close my eyes and cry,
In the dark is where it starts,
where a finger is released
by the hand squeezing my heart.
When the voices go away,
that's when I open up my eyes,
Into a world of darkness,
where bleeding stops my cries.
After I bleed out,
I allow the cuts to seal,
though the scars seem to fade,
my insides never heal...
So that's when I draw a picture,
a picture with a twist,
I use a sharper razor blade,
on my other wrist.
careema cooper
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dark-red/
