(trigger warning includes mentions of self harm, blood.)
I'm so cold.
As I feel the sting of the blade across my wrist,
And the blood dripping to the floor.
I let out a breath of relief.
Self-harm, a way to cope with pain, A cry for help,
A spiral of emotions too strong to bear,
A dangerous method of releasing desperation
The blade,
a savior or so it seems,
A temporary relief,
a way to recoup,
Razor-sharp edges are a comfort to hold,
A way to numb the pain and feel in control.
But the scars,
they tell tales of anguish,
A reminder of pain that's hard to
swallow,
Each cut a regret,
each wound a mistake,
A woe that's hard to shatter.
You will bounce back
And it will be hard
But then again what do I know
Because I'm so cold.
A/n: hey! I just want to make sure you guys are safe so here's the suicide help line: 988
YOU ARE READING
Me Venting About Life
Non-FictionJust me venting because I'm really sad most of the time and need someone to share my feelings with even if no one reads this. Also trigger warnings for most of this stuff btw.
