Sometimes I see that flash back again,
With the bubbles of blood that burst.
The wounds are deep,
I still don't stop,
Continuing to slash at the flesh that appears on my arm.
I don't feel any pain,
But I feel so calm,
The anger and sadness released.
When I eventually manage to stop myself ripping at my skin,
I glance down to see the engravings on my arms.
My sight begins to be unclear and blurry,
As the darkness and sadness returns.
'What have I done' I whisper,
As the hurt I felt returned.
I hung my head in shame,
But the desperation appears again.
I try to fight the guilt I feel,
To stop me from doing it.
'It's no use fighting' I whimper,
And hack at new flesh again.
