My Precious Razor Blade

[x_*kate*_x]

My Precious Razor Blade

im sitting in the corner

with my head down on my knees,

my wrists are over flowing with blood

from my precious razor blade.

my face is pale and i cant breathe

im almost at the end

of this tragic story

that you used to call life.

i used to run and hide

i used to sit and cry

until a day my tears didnt fall,

cause after all the years

of pain and misery

my tears dried up

then nothing was left for me.

i was abandoned, hated and burned.

i was left alone and ignored.

so there was a day i crawled through a door

to the other side,

into the darkness

forever to hide.

i was to weak to stand

from everybodies hand

hitting my face and i was being a disgrace,

them erasing everything from me,

my hope, confidence and self esteem,

its their fault for what they did to me.

i tried to cope i tried to deal

but it was painful and just to real,

and they still couldnt see

that i was living unhappily

that i was bottled up inside

silently screaming,

for someone to notice me.

now im cold and heartless

waiting for satan to save me,

while,

im sitting in the corner

with my head down on my knees.

my wrists are over flowing with blood

from my precious razor blade,

my face is pale and i cant breathe

im almost at the end

of this tragic story

that you used to call life.

[john]

Hey Kate

Stating the obvious but a very dark poem.

I like the idea, and the structure you have used.

"that you used to call life."

Not so sure of using "you" here. It kind of through me. That might be intentional, but for me "I" would would better.

"then nothing was left for me."

->

"and nothing was left for me."

That change seems to make it flow a bit easier, but hey.

Cheers

John

btw, I've a new lyric posted in the lyric board. I'd love your opinion, but don't feel you have to

[Rudi]

"that you used to call life."

It connects to me. Its detachment. She wouldnt describe it as life. Once the pain is over, there is emptyness. The pain was the only connection to life remaining.

However, it isn’t quite accord with the angst of the main body of the poem. Such as:

my hope, confidence and self esteem,

its their fault for what they did to me.

This is still full of pain & resentment. It might be more in keeping with the mood, had it been written from within the same empty mood

“How I once clung to hope, confidence…”

or

“Why did I cling to…”

[risesirrise]

A very cliche topic, but you pulled it off nicely. Like someone else said, I liked the structure. I believe the ending would be the most interesting part, which is probably best.