Tw // Self-harm
9 am, the sky's appearance had darkened,
To a gloaming dusk. No stars nor the moon in sight.
Empty, lack of sentiment you feel, drained.
Foremost, the cold, uneasy breathing thus.
A cigarette burns your insides as the climate freezes you outside.
The headache of the urge to cry but no reason for it ever after sought for hours to maybe try.
Hopelessly staring at the sky.
Inhaling smoke acknowledging the fact you won't survive.
You sigh, done with your cig, and biting your lips,
Extinguishing the flame on your skin.
So many scars. Nowhere to spare.
Just want to free that soul with a tear,
Everything pauses with a knock.
And now, you will again, stare and count the minutes at that antique clock.
