My collection of poems.

Guilt Trip.

You have no idea what it's like

To blame yourself for every little thing that happens in your household,

Your family

Within your boundaries

The guilt knocked down the walls

so you rebuilt them out of stone, with an iron gate.

Becoming more cautious of whom you let in, who you trust

Who you give the loaded gun to,

and hope you wont get shot.

It's like a war zone in your head,

two sides,

two small figures on your shoulders,

ones right, ones wrong.

But you wont ever know.

You cause yourself pain, to get your mind off the war and on the wound

The blood dripping from your wrist,

The razor hidden in the box

The long sleeves daily.

It's eating away at you slowly, nothing to blame but the guilt.

The day it eats you alive is the day you slit your wrist beyond repair.