Torn apart to be not fixed by every stitch.
Blood I bleed pours down my back to the floor. I'm sorry I apologize...for it may be gory not for the faint hearts to see, just let me be. I don't want to be saved though it may be hard..I wish I could be saved from the world. I battle myself lately inside my head my mind is awfully dread. I tried to fix my broken soul that withers is a way as a lost spirit...I need my needle and thread to fix my broken body as it's torn to shreads. I need a syringe to put the poisonous toxins back in. I don't want you to cringe; for it may not be a pretty site to see as ugle turn into debris of decadently sharp blades of knifes that could or would decay... my internal temperature of cold blooded...