TW: Content is about self harm. Might be disturbing to some.
In the quiet of the night, I feel a need,
To cut the same spot, to make myself bleed.
A place on my skin where I find relief,
From the stress and numbness, from silent grief.
The pain is a friend, a way to feel,
A proof that I'm alive, that this is real.
Each cut, each tear, is a fleeting cry,
A reminder of why I do this.
The world feels distant, wrapped in fog,
But here, in pain, I touch the life within.
A mark, a story, a sign,
That I am here, that I can endure.
Though it hurts, it's a strange solace,
A way to find myself in this lonely space.
In the pain, there is a glimmer,
A sign of life within the dark.
So I return to that same place,
Finding comfort in pain's familiar face.
In each laceration, a whisper,
A reminder that I'm alive, that I can still feel.
***
PS: I don't know why I engage in sh, but it makes me feel...alive, real, almost. It's like I've lost the ability to feel anything else so I just convince myself that I'm alive by experiencing pain.
I hope that makes sense, lol.
YOU ARE READING
Trapped in my own head
PoesíaShe is an outcast. She finds it easier to express what she feels in the form of writing. Whether it is poems, letters or long texts. These are poems that she writes trying to describe how it feels to live with certain mental health issues, in a worl...
