My Poems

Cut

I drag it across my wrist

Crimson red dots line my skin

I watch as the blood slowly drips down into the sink

My head spins

I take a deep breath in

It stings, but that's OK,

It's better than all the emotional pain.

All my problems seem to fade

And my mind starts to drift away.

I'm finally in control.

I drag the blade across my wrist again

It doesn't hurt this time,

I feel numb.

The weight on my shoulders have lifted,

And I look down at the wound I have inflicted.

A sick sense of pride washes over me as I stare at the mark on my skin.

Giving myself a grin.

I'm not proud of it, no, not at all.

But it's the only thing that keeps me calm.

I put my weapon of destruction away, and think about all my better days.

Why do things have to be this way?

Will it ever change?....

I hope so... At least before I go insane..