Drip, drip, drip...
The redness, stains my clothes and my arms,
The pain subsides, it is no longer there.
My fingers shakily put down the razor
But the addiction and pain comes furthermore.
The devil sat beside me and laughed in my ear,
"These chains are bounded, you are not going anywhere."
The thoughts of my mistakes and regrets are mocking me,
It can't be silenced, only heard.
"Playing the victim are we?"
My ears are ringing, the devil rejoices and dances happily.
When will this pain ever stop? No one knows.
It's always been there, never seen.
It continues to makes its mark on my arms,
Slicing and etching the softness of the skin.
With closed doors, they won't see,
With a straight face, they can't tell--
Under the sleeves of the sweater, lies
The Scars That Made Me...
YOU ARE READING
The Scars That Made Me
Poetry⚠WARNING⚠ This is not a story but a series of poems that I made. This can trigger any flashbacks so please read only to your extent.
