The tear rolling down my cheek,
Spilling down my jaw,
Adding to the puddle on my pillow.
It is filled with such sadness,
And sorrow,
And grief.
Not of a person,
But the soul I used to have,
The me I used to care about.
Because nothing really matters anymore,
The cutting is just for fun now,
It feels right,
Something I'm used to.
It's the only thing that gets me through the day,
When I get no sleep,
It makes me feel alive.
I need to feel alive because,
Right now I feel so worthless,
Like being dead would be better than this reality.
I really want to feel nothing,
So nothing can hurt me,
And occasionally that filter works.
But as soon as my bedroom door closes,
And I throw myself onto my bed,
My pillows see the real me.
The me that cries myself to sleep when I get sleep,
Because I feel like nothing really matters anymore,
And I want so desperately to not care.
And my razor sees the real me in the shower,
While I search so desperately for blood,
To feel relief like I can actually go through with something.
I see the real me when I look in the mirror,
When the smile turn to pure disgust,
At my gross and vile body.
My toilet sees the tonsils that,
My fingers reach to, to force,
The food I ate so carelessly while I feel so fat.
But I could never show a person the real me,
Because maybe it catches,
And I would rather die than put this sadness curse on my worst enemy.
YOU ARE READING
Personification
Poetry//3rd Place Arctic Awards// Through poetry, this book expresses different mental illnesses, emotions and discoveries of a teenage mind. 'No amount of body lotion or perfume could cover up the memory of his smell on my weakened, scarred skin, And no...
