Pick Up A Blade

1 – Perforate.
Circumspection re-generates.

The one thing you can’t debate.

It dominates.

It’s how they parade.

And they won’t explain.

Until you pick up a blade.

Appears like a bouquet. 

A fragrance that promises to eliminate.

Whatever you pain.

Whatever chews your brain.

Eroding to complicate.

When you pick up a blade.
2 – Digestion frail.

Of better intake.

Everyday when you make.

A promise to yourself that you won’t break.

But till evening there’s just shame.

A provisional trace.

A guaranteed provoke leading to damage.

Whenever you pick up a blade.
3 – This Hate.

This Fate.

This Phase.

What I write is what I live with every single day.

Shamed.

Ashamed.

Guilty Case.

When I will present, you won’t be able to tolerate.

This fuming internalised rage.

Toxically rapes.

Addictevly operates.  

Inside a Mind Cage.
4 – Preferring to turn to a waste.

Battling the race.

Figuratively a broken vase.

Burning concentrates.

Liquid shakes.

Blade pain.

Adrenaline craves.

Nasty marks that fades.

The Mind, The Emotion, The Surface.

Relaxed Base.

Fundamental temperament staring in my face.

Powerfully hallucinate.

Carelessly penetrate. 

Damaged, despised remains.

Anxious in my zone, in my space, in my place.

Whenever I pick up a blade.

Written By P.S

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