Sharp. Silver. Shining. The razor feels cool against my wrist, it feels like it belongs there. The Monster Under My Head whispers horrible things to me. About how imcomptent I am, how everyone is revolted by my unorthodox ways. Maybe the Monster is right, maybe I deserve the pain. She whispers about how no one likes me. It's quit funny, because I hate myself too. I press the razor deeper into my skin, bliss.
At first it feels good, like the emotions are being relased after holding them in for so long. It's my sin and redemption.
But then, you realize that you are falling deeper into the darkness. More and more you lose yourself, lose the parts of you that you care about. You realize how lonely you are. How fucked up you are. How flawed you are.
The cuts are kind of pretty actually.
They're reminders of the fact that I'm still alive. I'm not living, but alive.
But they're reminders of the battles I've lost against myself. The Battle Scars. But how can you win a battle against yourself? After a while it feels like you're just suffering, not fighting.
THIS MIGHT SEEM FAMILIAR, OR THE FIRST PART, I WROTE THE STORY 50 SHADES OF GREY AND I FORGOT MY PASSWORD. SO IN CASE SOMEONE THINKS IM COPYING SOMEONE ELE'S WORK, I'M NOT. PLZ COMMENT AND VOTE AND ADVISE OTHERS IF THIS IS RELATABLE
YOU ARE READING
Knives and Bandages
PoetryHere's to depression, loneliness, being crazy, and being everything that makes you, you.
