TO LOVE IS TO FEEL

She lurched toward the grubby wooden shelf,

Pouncing on its barbed ends,

Frequently as though it were a dance,

A rhythm of blue and black stains.

Collapsed, she did onto a carmine Persian rug

Feeling just a tug of pain on her abdominal,

She dug her jagged nails into her flushed upper arms,

Leaving flakes of skin as the result of self-harm.

With unaccomplished persistence she hauled herself towards the kitchen,

She hastily retrieved a sterling switchblade,

A laceration was laboured in with a degree of determination,

A snicker escaped her beaming lips.

As deliberately as possible, she lifted her wrists,

Her forefinger brushes across her lacerations,

A moan of distress filled the hollow room as she closes her eyes,

Emotions of all kinds coursed through her.

A steamed boat of water welcomed her sanguine fluid,

She dived in with full bareness and scars,

A once crystalline colour became infused with crimson,

Head dipped back she smirked with pride.

By,

Puteri Nur Izzaty binti Zainudin, KL.

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