It hits suddenly,
The urge,
The need,
To draw those pretty patterns
Down my legs to my feet.
I ache to trace the raised lines,
To feel the wet.
Then the hard, scabbed dry
Then the scars however,
The scars make my mind run with regret,
A reminder of time I can't forget,
A long lasting symbol of a loss of control,
Marked on my legs and forever on my soul.
Branded, bruised,
Stinging and sore,
The pretty patterns drip onto the floor.
Time to reset.
Put the timer back to day one.
Progress lost. The moments gone.
And those pretty patterns have been redrawn.
"But then it passed, as all things do" Khaled Hosseini
AN: If you don't know what this is about the poem is probably not aimed at you. If you understand this feeling I'm sorry and I hope you know it will pass.
YOU ARE READING
Drowning in oblivion
PoetryPoems on mental health. I'm going to use this book to write my poems and mostly I write about mental health problems. I'll write a description explaining what their on at the bottom so you don't have to try and work it out if you don't want to. I'm...
