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.
YOU ARE READING
My collection of poems.
PoésieA collection of poems that I write late at night when I can't sleep and have a lot on my mind.