No one seemed to notice the lines,
The lines that appeared on my wrists,
My thighs.
The way I cut my skin open,
Like I cut calories.
The way the lines went vertical,
And not diagonal.
They didn't even notice,
The diagonal ones.
No one seems to notice,
How deep into my struggle,
I really am.
I like it that way,
No sense of responsibility needed,
If I go to far.
No one to check me,
If I go too deep.
If I cut too many lines,
If I cut out me.
No one would notice.
Sadly that's just the way,
Things just have to be.
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YOU ARE READING
Dim.
PoetryTired of trying to be everything. Trying to be perfect. Wrong paths and wrong people and missed opportunities. Am I letting my mental illness take over my life? A look into the mind of a BPD, Anxiety ridden woman. With no identity but her Panic. W...