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Reflections of Soul
When I look into the mirror, what do I see?
Have I seen this person before in my life?
Who is this person looking back at me?
In his steady, small hand he holds a knife…
Do I really want to slice myself tonight?
This is not for real, only a cry for help
I should save myself like a shining plate knight
I feel down, lower than dirt, a bottom dwelling whelp
I can’t stand looking at my own reflection
Holding the knife, cutting deep into my own cheekbone
No sound, No response, No shout, No reaction
Cutting the other cheek, I want it gone, ALL GONE!
There is no need for a face as horrible as mine
A mangled face, a blood hand, a skinny body
I cut the ties to my mind like frayed twine
My mind is fucked, death by mental sodomy
I stand before bathed in my own sweet, red blood
Reborn by the loss of blood like a virgin’s first night
Or am I dead like a newborn babe bathed in blood
I see only darkness around me; never will I see the light
The blood I spill stains the pristine white porcelain sink
My own self-inflicted death means nothing to me anymore
Drowning in a pool of my own blood, deeper I sink
Can I live? The thought passes by me as my hand drops from the door….
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Baraka_Guru
In my own personal experience---this is just anecdotal, mind you---I have found that there is always room to be found between boobs.
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Vice-President of the CinnamonGirl Fan Club - The Meat of the Zombiesquirrel and CinnamonGirl Sandwich
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