Post by EvanescenceFan121381 on Oct 27, 2005 19:42:51 GMT -5
WARNING:[/B] If you have anything against cutting or suicide, I advise you to skip this poem, as it involves both.
I feel the pain, it is all I know
It needs to end, but how to stop it?
The knife is there, it cuts through me
Through the golden wolf's eyes I see me fall
"No!" hei cries, consumed with pain,
The pain of knife and blood and love
I know this must end soon, I know I can't go on
I see a dark figure ahead of me,
With hood and scythe and pain and death
It is my savior
He takes me from this world
And at last I am free.
The funny thing with this poem is, it hit me out of nowhere back in July (Seeing a pattern with my poetry?). I wasn't depressed (yet), I wasn't a cutter (yet), and I wasn't suicidal (never have been, thank god). I was afraid to write it because of what it was about, and I thought if I did and someone found it, they'd think I was suicidal. So time went by, my dad corrupted my hard drive, I used my mom's computer 24/7 for a while, I got a new Mac and put a million security measures on it, blah, blah, blah. And at this point, I was depressed and had already cut once. But I hadn't been able to get this thing out of my head all this time. So one day I sat down at the computer, opened TextEdit, and just typed. I know it changed a lot (what poem wouldn't after being in your head for months?), and I have a suspicion it would have been longer. But that's what I have, and it means a lot to me now that I've been depressed and cut myself.
I feel the pain, it is all I know
It needs to end, but how to stop it?
The knife is there, it cuts through me
Through the golden wolf's eyes I see me fall
"No!" hei cries, consumed with pain,
The pain of knife and blood and love
I know this must end soon, I know I can't go on
I see a dark figure ahead of me,
With hood and scythe and pain and death
It is my savior
He takes me from this world
And at last I am free.
The funny thing with this poem is, it hit me out of nowhere back in July (Seeing a pattern with my poetry?). I wasn't depressed (yet), I wasn't a cutter (yet), and I wasn't suicidal (never have been, thank god). I was afraid to write it because of what it was about, and I thought if I did and someone found it, they'd think I was suicidal. So time went by, my dad corrupted my hard drive, I used my mom's computer 24/7 for a while, I got a new Mac and put a million security measures on it, blah, blah, blah. And at this point, I was depressed and had already cut once. But I hadn't been able to get this thing out of my head all this time. So one day I sat down at the computer, opened TextEdit, and just typed. I know it changed a lot (what poem wouldn't after being in your head for months?), and I have a suspicion it would have been longer. But that's what I have, and it means a lot to me now that I've been depressed and cut myself.
