Sometimes, I just want to feel the popular relief of slicing into your own human flesh.
The gentle pressing of the sharp edge against delicate smoothness.
The parting of the skin to reveal a deep red liquid.
The drip onto the tile floor from the thick, flowing blood.
The small high everyone seems to get addicted to.
But I can't bring myself to do it. I might get carried away and go too deep. I could be found out by strict parents and struggling friends.
And, all in all, I know that leaving scars on my body permanently will solve nothing.
So, caring friends and worried readers, the day I cut will be the day I die.
YOU ARE READING
The Thoughts and Poems from the Mind of a 14-Year-Old Girl
PoetryI'm just a teen dealing with life One Step After Another. So, enjoy these crappy limericks, verses, and rhymes. I hope they keep you company. One page at a time.
