And I tell myself it's the last time. That I won't ever do it again. But the next day I slice into my skin. I battle with my thoughts every time I hold that blade, they always win.
YOU ARE READING
The broken
PoetryThe stinging burn of the water from my fresh cuts. The hot salty liquid streaming down my red hot cheeks. The times I am in so much pain that I can't even cry anymore.
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And I tell myself it's the last time. That I won't ever do it again. But the next day I slice into my skin. I battle with my thoughts every time I hold that blade, they always win.
