She sat one her bed,
With death in her head.
In her hand is a knife.
A knife that will take her life.
Scars on her wrists,
Because she was pissed.
Without a friend,
That was her end.
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Kurai's Poems
Scars on her wrists,
Because she was pissed.
Without a friend,
That was her end.
Home
Poems
Kurai's Poems