The metal,
Slicing across my skin.
The blood,
Winding its trail down my arm.
The feeling of release,
as I pierce the skin.
The cry for help,
Which cannot be heard.
The pain,
Which I inflict upon myself.
It feels right,
I deserve the pain.
I dig deeper,
Deeper the wound,
Further I can bury my emotions.
I cry,
Tears for my pain,
Tears for my fear.
No one can help,
They don’t know,
I know though,
I know,
That they are scared,
Scared of what I am doing,
And what I have done.
YOU ARE READING
My Heart-Shaped Box
PoetryThis is a small collection of some random poetry from my life, I believe that in reading a person's writing you can get an insight into the person they truly are, so this is me and I hope you like who I am
