<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=351049" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Losing Grip</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Losing grip she holds to life, <br>She tells herself she won't let go, <br>Yet here she sits holding the knife, <br>Moving it ever so slow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sits beside her bed, <br>Knife pressed to skin, <br>Knees drawn to her head, <br>For she knows this is a sin. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tears fall from her eyes, <br>They fall against the cuts, <br>Until the blood begin to dry, <br>She doesn't like this habbit, yet she's stuck in it's rut. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her head falls back, <br>As sobs break the silence of the air, <br>Crys pour from her thoat, yet in volume they lack. <br>At the back of her eyelids she stairs. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her hair falls around her, <br>A warm brown shall, <br>Not even the touch of a hand would make her stir, <br>As she listens to her creators call. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Along the slits she traces, <br>Time after time, line after line, <br>Forming a pattern like lace, <br>The paths, the cuts, so even, so fine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">pain shows through her face, <br>yet she drinks this pain, it is her feast, <br>Along her wrist, her body, the blood does trace, <br>She feels the least. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">in the depth of the room, <br>She sits with nothing, no light, <br>Only the shine of the moon. <br>She knows sha can't stop, yet it feels so right. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The anger, the sorrow, flows through her, it all leaves, <br>The blood wipes it away, let's her feel numb, <br>A blanket of blood is weaved.<br>Her heart beats; a steady drum. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She looks down at her art, <br>When all the feelings are gone, <br>She stands, and slows her heart, <br>And waits for dawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Bethany+Maxwell">Bethany Maxwell</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=351049" data-title="Losing Grip de Bethany Maxwell" data-description="Losing grip she holds to life, She tells herself she won't let go, Yet here she sits holding the knife, Moving it ever so slow. She sits beside her bed, Knife pressed to skin, Knees drawn to her head, For she knows this is a sin. Tears f..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black