Bloody Knife

in poetry •  7 years ago 

Knives are sharp,

cuts sting.

Blood is warm,

running down your arms.

Dripping into puddles,

getting cold.

Growing weak,

darkness in caves.

Falling to the floor,

painting you red.

Cold incaving you,

motionless,

life is no more.

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  ·  7 years ago Reveal Comment