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It Was All in My Head

Sitting on the cold white floor,

yet numbing happens in my brain.

Pulling self up yet slipped,

it was ...

blood around.

Beyond that darkness and solitude, shines

a piercing old knife --

plainly thrusted on my chest.

In stillness; held its sharp end

bury it in,

... and through.

I shivered –

not of pain, but

Of blankness,

Of disbelief.

Pulled the knife-

it was then countless stabs,

Blood spatting over walls.

Stinging, still not the wounds,

But eyes,

Long dry ones

-- cried all frustrations.

Loud and hoarse.

© 2021 Kathrine S