Bio-Buzz.com - Pearlland Poetry

Poetry by Pearlland
age: 15 Location: Middlebury, Vermont
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Madness

Confusion everywhere.
Mixed up in my own problems
Me battling life,
It battling death.
Madness overlapping each other in my mind
Slowly drifting away into the unknown.
Then tragedy strikes,
And back down to reality I must come.
I have got to stop you
Stop you from jabbing this dirty needle of death
into your weak and fragile arm.

Out into the cold bitter night you step
Foot and foot into the snow to the waiting figure,
Perched up high on his rig,
He hands over the stuff
Knowing you?ll be back for more.
Money s not an issue,
Not when you have a body up for sale.
Into the blackness the silhouette disappears??..

I pick up the phone and dial your number,
hoping I?m not too late.
Ring after ring goes bye
And still no answer.
My greatest fear passes my mind,
Just for a brief moment,
Till I hear the sweetest thing I?ve ever herd:
You?re voice.
You tell me it?s not what I think and that you must go.
I know there is no more I can do but lye here in wait.
But now I must pull myself together and be strong.

Throughout the night the phone rings off the hook.
Many not aware the nights events,
Some petrified of what?s next,
After the dial tone.
They beg, they plead, they cry, they ask you why.
Without an answer you put down the phone,
Tears stream down your face,
You get up and place the lifeless bundle safely beneath your bed.
Then you reach for the phone, and insist upon everything is all right.

There?s no need to pretend anymore, we all know something?s wrong.
You?re so close, but so distant.
Almost out of our grasps,
But I still grab onto anything I can,
Not to ever let go.
Each crisis a little bigger, a little harder to overcome, a little more painful.
I know there?s a familiar girl somewhere inside this stranger.
Where exactly I am just not sure.

©Pearlland

Jagged Edge

Slowly with precaution
Iron steel pressed against foreign flesh.
Little by little it breaks the skin.
The knifes blade not leaving till
Signs of blood appear.
A rough cut exists.
Iron steel against warm foreign flesh again
This time a little clearer,
A little redder, a little deeper.
Back and forth and again
Over and over
The blade pressed down
Its jagged edge
Puncturing my skin a little more
My wrists stinging
My mind wandering
The blade and my skin meet again
Deeper, clearer, redder, sharper
My wrists have become numb,
Soaked in my own blood,
My own pain,
My own fears.

The jagged edge of the blade chose its new victim
The evidence:
Thirteen lines across my wrist

Each day I dare to venture further, deeper,
Till I feel the burning,
Cause then
Even if just for a split second
At least I know I'm alive.

©Pearlland