Poems and shit

Disease

Tw ⚠️mention of self harming ⚠️ this also meant to be more rap poetry

I'm no longer "clean" from this "disease", but hey.

At least it's not killing me.

It was just for fun, I swear it was.

Not to harm anyone.

I just wanted to try it out, not to put anyone down.

I didn't want to hurt your feelings or make you feel the need to comfort me through the pain.

The pain isn't there, I swear.

It's just a little touchy, nothing I can't handle.

But the blade in my case says it won't go away.

And the voices say it's all to late.

Slice your thigh more, it'll be great.

Why not make a matching shape.

The heart on your thigh, it'll get lonely.

So why not give it someone to hold?

Something you need but cannot control.

The voices chant in the back of my brain.

Give it, give it.

But it'll hurt either way.

I can't give it, no not today.

Even though it's far to late.

This disease, it's caught me up.

Making me sick, coughing it up.

Coughing the blood from my thighs to the sink.

Please, someone sing me to sleep.

I can't do this, no not anymore.

My sanity's already out of the door.

I can't control it, no not today.

But for fucks sake let go of the pain.

It's not the pain.

It's the promise.

It's not the gain.

It's the want.

The want for attention or maybe more.

But now it's stuck and it won't go away.

Nor will the voices in the back of my brain.

You love it, you love it.

They chant with glee, as I look at the thing that's killing me.

I wanna smash it, but it's just to thin.

Just enough to tear the skin.

Just enough to feel the pain, and oh my god.

It won't go away.

"Help me, help me."

Is what I cry, but the voices are on the other side.

Smiling at me, with the disease.

Antidote, just out of reach.

"Make it stop."

I beg and cry.

"Make it stop or my blood'll run dry."

-Alex <3