A/N: I really don't like this poem. I was so full of rage and sadness at the time that I wrote it, that I couldn't bother to make it sound good at all. So why am I posting it then? Well, pretty much because all of my friends told me they liked it and that I should. So, I'm hoping that you all care for it as they did, and not as I did. Here it is, then: my first truly angsty poem.



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Slowly I draw the dotted line across my wrist,
"Cut here" is inscribed.
My scissors are too dull to cut...
Poor thing, you're stuck with me for this time.
But most of me is already dead--
A little bit more killed off each day--
Not at my own hand, but by your's
As it cuts along its way.
All this time I've kept my optimism up
With images of Faes and mermaids,
Beautiful clouds in the skies,
And gorgeous wintery-white days.
But within my lovely bubble
I can no longer hide,
For the evils are getting through,
And you march at their side.
With silver sword in hand,
You leave my dreams slain;
My present tries to run,
But it is also maimed.
I sit, sprawled helpless,
Emotion burning inside:
All those little waves of hatred
Come together to form the tide.
And anger fades...
Sadness sets in--
There is nowhere to turn,
Now that the evils have been let in.
I have nothing left to spur me on
Because I finally realize
I had nothing to begin with...
My bubble of protection had clouded my eyes.
I'll never live in a castle beneath the sea,
Or find a way to tell that special person
How much they truly mean to me.
And if there's nothing left to hope for,
And nothing to live now
(For anguish and tears are no life),
Then why don't I just end it all now,
With that one quick stroke of my knife?