TW: Cutting, cutting relapse
Let's play tic tac toe
Right on my thighs
We can etch our game in
And I wouldn't think twice
The game board is set
And I'm ready to win
The score doesn't matter
The fun's in my skin
You could call this a relapse
You wouldn't be wrong
I don't care if I failed
It's a welcome one
I never wanted to stop
I didn't want this to end
I tried for you, dear
But the hurt is a friend
I didn't mean to restart
But I'm in love with the pain
You don't understand
Watching blood down the drain
The love of the red
Isn't something you get
A mesmerizing sight
Like a scene out of It
I paint on my legs
With the razor's scratch
It's a lovely little way
To practice my crosshatch
I go over once
And then once a time more
The satisfaction comes
With the crimson floor
When my body is wet
I can cut softly through
But the slice of dry skin
Is beautiful too
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryTW: Sexual abuse, cutting/self harm, suicidal tendencies/thoughts, bad words Really fucked up poems about my trauma and struggles. Don't read if you don't like dark stuff.
