One cut,
Two cuts,
Three cuts,
Four
One here and a few more.
Another bunch of scars won’t do me any harm,
Blood is already trickling down my scarred arms.
The feeling of emptiness is getting the best of me,
I am sad, hurt, depressed and lonely.
Slash!
Oh! I made another one and I think it’s deep,
In the carpet, my crimson blood seeps.
‘That’s gonna leave a stain.’ I think.
I quickly go and wash my arms in the sink.
The red liquid is all over the place,
I’m feeling dizzy, my mind in a haze.
I skip to my room, the only place that calms me down,
I may get a panic attack; I cannot think straight right now.
This is my everyday life,
I come back home, take my arm to the knife.
Or maybe a razor, it can be.
It really depends on my mood, you see?
The cuts on my arms are growing day by day,
I don’t even care a slightest bit, honestly to say.
These scars will tell you a story,
A story which will describe me perfectly.
But I make sure to hide the visible ones,
Some are invisible, they’re outdone.
These cuts on my wrists will be there with me,
When not a single person cares to see;
My pain,
My anger,
My emptiness,
All of which I’m facing.
