Bracelets of Blood

to pick up a razor, to paint a portrait

that would scream out my sorrow within,

despite the pain, I would try to go on

and perhaps even savor the sin

those were my reasons,

for what I have done,

and so the drawing with my bloody blade begun

I held it against my wrist, with watery eyes

eyes that judged myself in the mirror

tears toured down my cheeks

as I looked down and grasped the terror

a frightful fluid flowed down my arms, painting them a pretty pigment

with two arms trembling, I tossed the tool aside as I was done with my vent

With scarlet arms, I stood there in silence, then sealed my scars

I wrapped bandages around my wrists

then washed away the stains in the sink

trembling, I started to think

I survived a century’s quarter;

ive lived two decades and a half

but now all of a sudden I cut

and at this tragedy I tried to laugh

the razor tempted me; it was so sharp, slicing my soft skin so easily

skin so fragile and frail,

cutting it open for a feeling or a care

but that night has nested and nevermore will there be bloodshed

never again, I hope, would I see again my arms varnished red

For now, to remember my misery and misfortune, I have that memory of a fast flood –

A flood of despair and depression, then bandaged, and now, my bracelets of blood.