Categories > Original > Poetry > And the Salt That Stains Your Cheeks
Counting the Footsteps to the Bathroom Door
0 reviewsThis is something very important to me. I'll explain in the memo.
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Counting the Footsteps to the Bathroom Door
Her icy fingers on the icy mirror,
The tears stain her cheeks, and betray her fear,
Her bruises play connect the dots,
Her mind is shadowed by twisted thoughts
The door is cracked open, but she can't escape,
The clock on the wall is fifteen years late,
This hopelessness has her gagged and bound,
Her feet are nailed to the filthy ground
She can't cry out, her throat is numb,
The angel holds a loaded gun,
One click of the trigger with the gun to her head,
The tiles are painted crimson red
The rain falls outside as if nothing's wrong,
As if the day was only this long,
And the time is forgotten as her body lays,
When even those icy fingerprints begin to fade.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
A/N: This is my favorite poem I have yet written. And I just have something very personal to say:
Dedicated to the fifteen year old Texas highschool student who committed suicide in her school bathroom. I don't know her, I've never seen her, I don't even know her name. I just remember I felt like crying when I read about this. Though those icy fingerprints have long ago faded, this poem will not be forgotten so easily. An love goes out to her. I'm sorry you felt like that. Just want you to know, even someone who didn't know you wishes she could've been there to stop you. Wishes she could have done SOMETHING.
Her icy fingers on the icy mirror,
The tears stain her cheeks, and betray her fear,
Her bruises play connect the dots,
Her mind is shadowed by twisted thoughts
The door is cracked open, but she can't escape,
The clock on the wall is fifteen years late,
This hopelessness has her gagged and bound,
Her feet are nailed to the filthy ground
She can't cry out, her throat is numb,
The angel holds a loaded gun,
One click of the trigger with the gun to her head,
The tiles are painted crimson red
The rain falls outside as if nothing's wrong,
As if the day was only this long,
And the time is forgotten as her body lays,
When even those icy fingerprints begin to fade.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
A/N: This is my favorite poem I have yet written. And I just have something very personal to say:
Dedicated to the fifteen year old Texas highschool student who committed suicide in her school bathroom. I don't know her, I've never seen her, I don't even know her name. I just remember I felt like crying when I read about this. Though those icy fingerprints have long ago faded, this poem will not be forgotten so easily. An love goes out to her. I'm sorry you felt like that. Just want you to know, even someone who didn't know you wishes she could've been there to stop you. Wishes she could have done SOMETHING.
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