Discussion in 'Poetry' started by steel_bubbles, Jun 13, 2006.

  1. steel_bubbles

    steel_bubbles Member


    You pull the razor against my arm…

    It drags,

    the blade cutting deeper and deeper into my skin.

    I am scarred…

    Blood seeps out of the wound,

    It hurts.

    It hurts bad.

    Yet I do not cry,

    For you would not comfort me,

    You would not care.

    I watch as the numbers are written in my flesh.

    Once I didn’t believe people when they said this hurt.

    They said the pain was unbearable…

    I didn’t believe them,

    Yet now the razor is cutting through my skin.

    Living the past hurts.

    I want to go home now.

    a poem about the holocast

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