My picture

My picture

As I walk into my house,
once again they scream.
Their cruel words echoing through my thaughts.
My eyes filling with unwanted tears.
I take the knife,
I take it to my wrists hoping top die.

I slowly draw across my skin; using my knife.
They still run down my pale face;the burnuing tears.
And through my mind, the thoughts
of the people who scream,
of my broken home,
of the people who want me to die.

My friends, they dont know about the screams.
They dont know about my tears,
they dont know of my thoughts,
or of my wanting to die.
They will not know about my knife.
They will never know about my home.

I continue to draw with my knife
the memory of my happy home
taunting my thoughts
Once there were no screams,
Once there were no tears.
Once there was no one wanting to die.

I can hear the screams.
They're echoing through my home,
through my mind and thoughts.
My dream  to die,
growing closer  as my tears
fall into my picture drawn by my knife.

My picture almost complete, I throw my knife.
THere is no chance for a happy home.
There is no other way to stop the screams.
I do no need life, i do not need my thoughts,
nor do i need my tears.
I am here ready to die.

I lay, slowly waiting to die. No need of my thoughts so no
need of my knife.I wait for my soul to leave me home.
My tears continue to fall as the screams fade out.


By Piagey.Franky