The Blood

A slow release,
A little break,
Blood flows down,
A crimson snake.

Emotional pain,
Gone with a slash,
The drops fall down,
With a tiny splash.

A part of me craves,
Another disgusted,
That I'd make another,
Before the last has crusted.

I lie on my bed,
Finally at peace,
Revelling in it,
Before the bleeding can cease.

I close my eyes,
Blackening out day,
And wish my last,
That the pain will not stay.

Death takes me in,
A shroud of darkness,
I look down on my body,
Now a bloody mess.

But I feel nothing,
Not empty, not gone,
The norm was five cuts,
But this only one.

Deep and numb,
Alone and cold,
My parents would never approve,
A move so bold.

But they are gone,
And so am I,
Feeling my spirit,
Soar and fly.

Simple and plain,
I am dead,
No more thoughts,
Running through my head.

No more dreams,
No more hurt,
No more feel of a warm heart beating,
Beneath a person's shirt.

And though I know,
I should not dwell,
I can't help but think:
Heaven or Hell?

For in this moment,
Dead and gone,
I feel nothing at all,
Except something's begun.

by Zoe Adams

Other poems of ADAMS (8)

Comments (2)

Really like this poem Zoe as I did your window sill one too. Maybe not everyone's cup of tea as a subject matter, but I enjoyed it! Keep it up.
Really like this poem Zoe as I did your window sill one too. Maybe not everyone's cup of tea as a subject matter, but I enjoyed it! Keep it up.