river called love (a poem i wrote)
Blood running down my face into the river I call my love. Just one drop turns my river red. Tis this the color of my soul? For my loving life to come? Just one drop and it goes sour, just like my love. No longer drink from my river I called my love, for it is tainted with the taste of blood.
another poem called Drip
Drip,Drip,Drip... That is the sound that I hear. I hear it when you hit me. I hear it when we make love. I hear it when you drink. That sound is the sound of the blood running from my body, tears falling from my blood stained face and hitting the floor. I cant ever hear my own screams over the constant dripping. Now sitting in a pool of my own blood and tears by the wall. Are you happy now? I dripped myself dry. I wont bother you any longer, I will no longer be your punching bag. I sit here against the wall in my drying pool or blood and tears.........DEAD!
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