My knuckles are red from punching the wall enraged.
Punching and screaming into my pillow, I feel like I'm caged.
I cry salty tears until my eyes and throat feel like they're burning up in flames.
And still, I dismiss their claims.
"You're hurting yourself!" But it really isn't much.
"That's selfharm!" But I really wouldn't label it as such.
And even though I take the razor blade and let it pierce my skin,
I would never admit to doing such a gory thing.
I'm simply making myself hurt, and bleed, and scream, and cry.
"I've never hurt myself before." Maybe that's a lie.
15th January 2022
YOU ARE READING
"Hate And Shame" -Poems of a mentally ill person-
Poetry"All of the words left unsaid, The messages left unsent, The letters burned and ashes buried six feet deep, for I could never tell a soul what I really feel." All of these poems are mine, please do NOT edit, re-publish or re-upload them without my p...
