Warmth

Folder: 
Self harm/Suicide

4/1/02





Its taste is Putrid, Bitter



But it leaves my insides vaguely warm



Like my skin last night



Laced crosses of tingling welts



Smeared with drops of blood



I lay in bed, the world quiet



Even with Crazy Town’s obscenity



Screaming in my ears



All that my mind sees, feels



Are the reluctant warmth of my legs

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This once again is an Auto Biography of an hour or two of my life.

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