I have an addiction.
Don't worry it's not to drugs,
It's not to alcohol or cigarettes.
It could be considered far worse,
But it's also said to be nothing.
I'm an addict,
I wish I could help,
Find someway to stop.
If I could silence these voices,
Maybe it'd help.
If I could stop making lists,
Stop drawing these new lines.
You see that's my addiction,
I redraw my lines.
Over and over and over again,
I can't help myself.
As I see the color gushing out,
I can't help but fall in love,
I can't help but to want more.
I'm addicted to this sting,
This pulsing pain.
The pain that comes with breaking open these cell walls,
The pain associated with this sickness called depression.
Too many people know,
Too little understand.
Yes I'm an addict,
But don't fret my love.
I can deal with it,
I have for years.
I've set up control,
I've gained a new mindset.
It's no longer 'cutting',
It's simply drawing.
And oh how I love to draw.
YOU ARE READING
A Misunderstood Understanding
PoezjaMy book of poetry; this ranges in genres, but seems to focus on the depressing side of things. There are some trigger warnings... marked with a *
