Learn more about other poetry terms

She sits on the edge of her bed.Inside, she feels so dead.She has mastered the art of hiding.Yet she is now tired of trying.She is thinking maybe it should end.Not the relationship, not the feelings,
I paint the roses I paint the roses red I dare not to stop Or waste a drop So I let the blood be spread
hold your breath, it's not over yet, so you try to get away you try so hard to destroy the monster, when you relize, that demon, is you...   as the clone creeps closer,
Not everything works Like it used to when We were young Disease fills us Disorders rot our minds and We’re never cured Anxiety creeps up Fire that you ignore but Can’t put out
Thoughts race time goes by minutes drag she wonders why   darker and darker her mind goes what is the outcome? nobody knows   all she sees behind hazel eyes
Incompetent minds with unyielding thoughts she keeps to herself and guards her soul   they dont understand they only observe she stays in pain but keeps her control  
Her condition is that she is a walking contradiction, for she is a soul burning with hot fire and coals born into the coldest winter ever.   She’s living in hell amongst demons yet some say she looks heavenly.  
Understand, this is not right.Listen, hear me warn you.This is not a fair fight.You will fail, win, lose.
Subscribe to selfmutilation