Do you ever get an aching pain,
Where the blade used to carve?
A phantom burning across your skin ,
That now houses your smooth white scars?
Do you ever feel that stocking tingle,
And burst into tears?
Something once so grotesquely beautiful and disgusting.
That had helped you for all those years?
I do.
And I hate it.
The feeling makes me sick.
And as I rub my wrists,
Searching for the cuts,I remember.
I remember how bad I had gotten.
How completely out of control I was,and I cry.
I cry for my past,my aching wrists that remind me of the pain I needed to keep myself sane,and my smooth,almost invisible while lines that tell that very story.
As eyes flutter shut,I remember the day,sitting on my bathroom floor.Door locked as I cried silently,begging myself not to go through with it.So I didn't, instead tore apart my razor to grab a blade.
That's how it all started ,but here is where it ends.
As I rub away the feelings,I take a vow.
No more little white lines.
No more secrets,no more grief.
This single promise,I pray I can keep.
YOU ARE READING
Paper Heart Poetry
PoetryThey don't prepare you for these feelings when you're a kid. ●●● Pain in the shape of words because human emotion is a powerful source of inspiration. Revel in the contradictions. Swim in the salty depths of grief. Climb the mountains of sorrow. Re...
