Pain.
Can't you see it?
Can't you see I'm suffering?
What about these red lines across my wrists?
My ankles?
Do you even look at them without disappointment or shame?
Can't you see the cry for help?
A cry saying,
"No more!"
Please!
I can't take it,
I'm already in hell.
YOU ARE READING
Cuts That Spell
PoetryPoems of depression, anorexia, self-harm, hope, and recovery.
