by Ronja
Published on: Dec 6, 2006
Type: Poetry

Watch the flower tilt its head
Tears stream down your face
You kneel upon your broken bed
And don't want to leave a trace
With caution you undo the knife
That cuts your flesh and pierces life

Drops of blood, laugh and cry,
Laugh at your suicide,
No, please, please, help me die
Flocks of sheep, a knowing sigh

Stain the walls of your heaven,
This is what you chose
Maybe it’s forsaken
Satin curtains close

Watch the flower fall into the tomb
Finding peace upon the knife
That cut you out your mothers womb
And lastly took your life
You lay upon your broken bed
Tears have stained your face
And you know now, half dead, that -
you had to leave a trace.

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