Not a Shame, My Athame
Go on.
There we go.
…
That sticky red substance falls to the floor.
My way of getting rid of my pain.
As the blade cuts deeper,
The more senses I lose.
No one knows,
Because they don’t care.
Not even my parent’s,
As they’re losing their hair.
Across the tracks,
Upon my wrist.
Let it cut deeper,
Into my peaceful bliss.
I grow new scars,
Almost every night,
Because of that treacherous monster,
Who causes my fright.
He handed me this.
And told me to die.
His eyes held laughter,
As I took the knife.
He told others he was joking.
But I thought not.
Tonight is the night,
He got what he’s want.
As I cut deeper then before.
My sticky red substance,
Staining the floor.
The only to notice,
Was that purple decorated athame.
Not a shame,
To you,
Anymore….
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