"Promise me you won't cut," you said,
and I nodded, but my fingers crossed,
a quiet betrayal behind my back,
a truth I couldn't tell you.
I wish I could promise things,
wish I could say I have control,
but I've tried, and I've tried-
the ache pulls me under, again and again.
It's not the pain, exactly,
but the break it gives me,
a heartbeat in the numbness,
a warmth to remind me I'm here.
In that red moment, I feel alive-
I feel something.
And that brief proof of life
is all I have to cling to.
YOU ARE READING
Trapped in my own head
PoetryShe 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...
