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Crimson Tide

Contributed by bobotheclown on Thursday, 15th August 2002 @ 07:12:09 AM in AEST
Topic: SadPoetry



I stare at my wrist
Where the criss-crossed scars
Have converged into one
I pick up my razor
And dwell/think about bringing it
Out of its retirement

So many choices
So many wrong ones
But my mind isn't fully functional
Warped by anti-depressants
That don't work
Except at stealing money

I add two more cuts
Putting scar atop scar
With a sudden idea
I pull my sleave up
Bring out an exacto knife
And draw it against my bicep

Cutting downwards
I gasp and shake
Closing my eyes
A lone tear, drifts out
Like a diamond
The only beautiful thing for miles

I measure it
A four inch cut
Proud of my morbid 'accomplishment'
I watch in fascination
As the blood trickles down
And merges with my wrist

In a haze... I think
Its the converging of two war-torn nations
My sleeve rolls down
Staining it... crimson
I pull it up
And dab methodically
Like a robot at my cuts




Copyright © bobotheclown ... [ 2002-08-15 07:12:09]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: Crimson Tide (User Rating: 1 )
by Jessica_Saini on Friday, 16th August 2002 @ 02:30:18 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
I think that most people don't have a clue what goes through the minds of people that are depressed, and about to kill themselves. If you were speaking from experience, or a friend's experience, it must have been a difficult poem for you to write. Job well done.


Re: Crimson Tide (User Rating: 1 )
by wyrd_faerie on Sunday, 16th March 2003 @ 05:05:34 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
beautiful...




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