Cuts

Poem By Rony Smith

I sit here slicing alone in my room,
With every cut I get closer to my doom,
My hands turning white,
The floor turning red,
My eyes losing focus,
My heart feeling dead,
My hearing fades,
My head hits the floor,
My blood begins to run under the door,
I see faint shadows,
And hear sharp screams,
The room turns black,
And things are what they seem,
I feel them shake me and tell me to stay,
With the last beat of my heart I say goodbye,
To world that caused me so much pain.

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