The pain that surrounds my aching heart,
Is caused by bruises and thick scars.
They're puffy and infected, and making me ill.
The only way to stop it is to swallow sleeping pills.
The worst part is I can't really feel,
This numbness is crushing and tragically real.
I want to curl up and hide from the world.
Hide from the eyes of the boys and girls,
Who judge and tease and say terrible things.
Their words condemn my soul to tiny pings of pain,
Caused by rusty and bloody razor blades.
According to my parents I am 2 years clean.
According to my friends I'm only three.
But don't ask, please don't ask of me,
How many days I've truly been clean.
Because that number is small,
I haven't been clean long.
And each day the addiction pulls me to a direction that's wrong.
The hidden instruments play symphonies across my skin,
Laughing and cackling at my horrid sins.
It's awful really, how short it's been.
Since I've made the mistake,
Since I've had to make,
The bandages that protect my clothes,
And secretly my mum from a truth unknown.
The darkness is real my friends,
I've been falling forever, I don't know where it ends.
But I do know that rock bottom can't be that far,
I've climbed my way back- just look at the scars.
Nothing could hide the thick puffy marks.
They're deep in the skin, like hidden art.
They criss and they cross,
While my mind ticks and tocks.
My subconscious is a bomb, waiting to go off.
I hope one day that some one will see,
That the person I am now is really not me.
I'm a happy person, quite a free-spirit.
With goals and a future, trust me I've planned it.
I want to travel and write, and love with my heart.
But I need to get better- I just don't know where to start...
YOU ARE READING
Poems...
PoetryMay be triggering, please please please please please talk to me. I write these not to make people hurt themselves, but as my own way of getting past it. Please, never feel like you must do this to yourself- and if you do please don't hesitate to te...
