With A Knife

By Nishtha Mishra

I stabbed my neck with a knife,

I tried my best to take my life.

I bled, I bled, I bled in rife,

I tried to take my life in spite.

I stabbed myself with a knife,

I throbbed it through my neck and spine.

I sold my soul for a single, little dime,

And ended all my pain and all my trife.

I stabbed myself with a knife,

And yet all I felt was peace and fine.

And now I’m left with a second and five,

Glad I stabbed and took my life.

It all started when I cut my wrist,

My heart felt weird, I felt the way it twist.

I felt agitated and I threw my fist,

Then I made a gap and broke the bridge.

My hands were full of cuts and slits,

With counts of times my death was missed.

And so my neck and cheeks were kissed,

With love and care, the things I wished.

Then all it drained down to this,

The part where all I wanted was bliss.

‘Live or dead in this moment,

All I wanted was to be missed.

Then I wondered if I should call,

Someone who’d care, someone at all.

But no one came up to my thoughts,

And hence I bled alone and I rot.

By Nishtha Mishra