Fingertips crawl up my chest.
Nails biting into my skin.
Nervous hands trace the remains,
Of what used to be.
Once whole but now torn.
Ripped and dangling in your hands.
Wring out what is left,
Blood pouring from my veins.
Strength throughout the day,
Makes me weak at night.
But no one sees,
The true emptiness within.
Silence in the dark brings happiness.
Away from others the monsters come .
My only friends,
Tell me I should be with them.
I want to come.
Maybe one day I will.
But for now I'm better,
Right?
YOU ARE READING
Its Getting Harder to Breathe
PoëzieA poem book on whatever at the moment ...self harm is a topic in here sometimes. I am not trying to trigger anyone, so if you are in a vulnerable state, take caution.
