Blood draining from me
Like a river flowing
From my veins
To the ground in a puddle
As dark as night
The night smelling like iron
As the blood drips down slowly
No one can hear ym silent scream
As the sharpened blade slices my
Delicate skin, deeper and deeper
Like a hot knife searing my tender flesh open
To be mangled and played with
My blood and veins exposed for the air to crip them up if the flow allows
I scream so silently that no one can hear
My begs and pleas cannot exscape my to dry lips
I hold my breath in hopes it will be over soon
Will someone come for me before it's to late?
No, no one give a damn about what happens
Why should anyone?
Im not their problem
I never was
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