Copyright, Jana

The Trail

the perfect blade, the perfect nail
the perfect tool to set the trail
a hole, a line, a letter, a star
a cut, a bleed a heal and a scar
the trickle of red begins to flood
her tears stop falling and she cries blood
the trickle will fall, the peace set in
then no more sadness, no more sin
the trickle stays minutes, the peace a while
brushes hair from her face and starts to smile
then the blade is wiped, the tissues thrown
the trail is covered, the trickle — gone
then she opens the door and walks with pride
as cuts on skin hide cuts inside.

Seventeen Years

she hides in silence so no-one hears
she walks in the shadows for the light, she fears
she cries all alone so the tears don’t show
then smiles for the world so that no-one will know
she remembers the pain of seventeen years
how she’s wept and dried a million tears
how she slashed her perfect world apart
and how scars will forever remain on her heart
she’s slid on life’s path been grazed and hurt
she’s trodded through others muck and dirt
she’s sat on the bench and watched life fly past
now it has it’s victory and takes her at last
now the time has come for time to cease
for her scarred heart to rest and her soul to have peace
no more will she hide tears,
brave fears,
but let go of her pain
and seventeen lonely, lost years.


Permanent location: