What Thinking Brings
By isa
As I sit on my bed Thinking way too much, In my scared hand, There is a knife I clutch. My house is empty and quiet There is no one to stop me. They've all gone away, And finally let me be. I don't trust this knife, Nor do I trust my mind. By the end of the day It's death my mind might find. My flesh burns for blood My mind aches in pain. Reality and imagination start to blur Is there something more to gain? Written January 4th, 2002 © on Jan 03 2002 04:14 PM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"As I sit on my bed..."