there comes a point where the cuts on your thighs simply becomes just that, cuts
the relief you crave, never comes
your body becomes used to the sting
it becomes apart of your routine
so you look for it else where
the nic found in the vape hidden under your pillow
the green your sister let's you have a hit of while hanging with her friends
the drink you secretly chug while your mums out doing god knows what
you'll search anywhere just to find a hint of something. anything.
this doesn't stop you from carving your skin though, does it ?
of course not !
how else would you try and get your mind to believe that your valid.
the marks on your skin makes you feel as if maybe, just maybe your not faking it.
YOU ARE READING
The Fine Art Of Giving Up
PoetryI guess this is just me fucking around and writing whatever pops to mind. Feel free to ignore this it's mainly for my benefit 🤠
