Knife edge
Pressed against
The tender underside
Of a wrist.
Hope
A foreign word
Which has
No more meaning
At all.
Complaints
Fell upon
Deaf ears.
Forced to deal
With volatile emotions
Beyond
A person’s control.
Blamed
For everything
That has happened
In the past.
Two
Swift stokes
No more.
Therisa © 2011
Author's note: An older poem, from 2011, with many elements that ring true, for me, it's a fictional poem. Yes, I know, it's a dark poem.
