My little black book

I pick that little metal slab up
I drag it across my thin fleshed wrist
It's like taking a candle to wax
Melting away everything undesirable
People call me emo
People call me a freak
I call it my little photo album
They call it my little blck book
It's just like taking a picture
But instead of capturing the good,
everytime i look down
im flashed with insecurity
Call it my little black book
You're being judgemental by the look
No one even gives it a try for the adrenaline rush
You feel it just when the blood is starting to gush
Blood so Red, Blood so lush
What people see is only the beginning
Satin lives in me parishing my soul
Penetrating my heart, leaving a hole
Chills crawl underneath my skin like an unwanted mole
Hate me im not going to put on a roll
Say what you want it takes no toll
i am who i am
dont let anyone in, put up a dam
Call it my little black book
but listing my memories is very clever
I am who i am
And thats forever
I call it my photo album
till the blood starts to gush the adrineline wont come
Pain goes away and eventually your numb





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This article has 4 comments. Post your own now!

Tanisha said...
Jun. 16, 2009 at 12:15 am
everyone has a different point of veiw and mine just comes in many angles.
 
Konnar said...
Jun. 15, 2009 at 6:03 pm
I've never heard a description of cutting like that before. It's interesting a bit weird but it's really good.
 
Fangz said...
Jun. 12, 2009 at 1:10 pm
Been there...
 
SaraB. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jun. 16, 2009 at 3:59 pm
I think you meant 'satan' because satin is a cloth, not the devil. And listen to me: please, please talk to someone about this so they can help you. Or I know you don't know me, but you can talk to me. Your poem is really good.
 
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